Dragonborn: The Legacy
by Whisper292
Summary: Having grown up more sheltered than their parents, Rowan and Ben Stormblade come of age with an innocence that Selene and Brynjolf never had. They meet Dolff, a prince with a compulsion to live up to a name he feels he didn't earn. Will the lessons they learn with the Companions and College of Winterhold be enough to prepare them for the threat that is coming to Skyrim?
1. Dragonborn Legacy Prologue

Dragonborn: the Legacy

Prologue - Coming of Age

_A/N: With the defeat of Alduin in 4E 205, the Fifth Era began. Rowan was born in Year Zero of the Fifth Era. _

* * *

5E 11, 20 Second Seed  
Ten-year-old Rowan Stormblade crept through the Cistern slowly, silently, hugging the wall as best she could. She would do it this time; she just knew it. Her daddy was distracted, talking to Rune about a job he had done. He didn't even know she was in the Cistern. Just a few more feet. She slipped across the doorway leading to the vault, and she thought she saw Rune's eyes flash in her direction—they were hard to miss these days, their golden glow unmistakable even in the dark—but he didn't show any sign that he had seen her. Then she was right behind her daddy. Slowly, carefully, she eased forward and reached for the coin purse that hung from his belt. She took hold of the string with one hand and started to cut with her dagger. She had done it!

Brynjolf raised his hand and placed it over hers before she could cut the string.

"Oh, horker poop!" she spat.

Daddy looked down at her with a smile. "Ah, so close."

"When did you know?"

"I've been doing this a long time, little one."

"When!"

"When you crossed in front of the vault. You let Rune see you. You should have waited till he walked away."

Rowan sighed dejectedly. "I'll never get it right."

"You've picked nearly every pocket in the Guild," Rune reminded her.

"Aye, except for Mama, Daddy, and Delvin. And I'm never gonna get them."

Brynjolf wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her curly red hair. "It's all right, lass. You're too hard on yourself. Now, go play."

"Can I stay with you for a while?" She smiled up at him appealingly.

"Oh, very well. But our conversation will probably bore you."

"Maybe Rune can give me a sweet to keep me occupied."

"What makes you think I have any sweets on me?" the handsome Imperial, who had become a vampire several years ago so as not to age and die before his Dunmer wife, countered.

"Because you always do."

"Maybe I want to keep them for myself."

Rowan glared at him. "You don't eat sweets. The only reason you carry them is to give them to me and Ben. Please?"

Rune stared at her for a moment and then rolled his eyes. "You know you have the entire Thieves Guild wrapped around your finger, don't you, kid?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rowan said innocently.

After a while, she did get bored, so Rowan hugged her daddy and Rune, went to the ladder that led up to the cemetery entrance, and climbed up to the surface. She found her brother Ben in Mistveil Keep's training yard, fencing with Maurice, a boy from the orphanage. Maurice was her age and adorable, with short, blond hair and big, gray eyes. Rowan had a crush on him, but he hadn't discovered her yet, and she supposed that was for the best. Daddy would kill her if she got a boyfriend at her age. He'd probably kill Maurice, too, or Uncle Farkas would.

At eight, Ben was already showing aptitude with the sword. He was only using a wooden sword, of course, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Daddy had been teaching them both since they could walk, but Ben was better at it than Rowan. Then again, she was a better archer. Mama said it was as though she had been born with a bow in her hand. Rowan did hope she would improve with the sword, though. Maybe when she joined the Companions, Uncle Vilkas could help her. Daddy was a good teacher—he was the reason she had picked nearly every pocket in the Guild—but his sword instruction just didn't click with Rowan.

He swung his wooden sword at Maurice, who jumped out of the way. Where Rowan looked like her mother but had her daddy's red hair, Ben was a little Brynjolf with black hair. They both had Mama's blue eyes. Her brother was just as sneaky as she was, although not as far along in his training. Rowan loved Ben, and they went most everywhere together. Then again, there was a whole group of them who played together. Several of the kids from Honorhall played with them as well. Rowan and Ben spent half of their time inside the orphanage, which Uncle Farkas and Aunt Blanche, who were their parents' best friends, had bought when she was just a baby. It was a really happy place, which Mama said was unusual for an orphanage, but Blanche and Farkas loved kids, and they took good care of them.

"How'd you do?" Ben asked her as she stood by with arms folded.

"Got almost all the way there, but Rune saw me."

"Not your fault. The man can see in total darkness."

"Daddy said I should have waited till he was gone."

"Maybe you should try again," Maurice suggested.

"So soon? I don't know."

"Yeah, now is the perfect time," Ben argued. "He won't be expecting you to come right back."

"Well, all right. Bye, Maurice."

Maurice responded by sticking his tongue out at her. Hmm, she thought, maybe he _did_ like her.

She went back to the cemetery entrance, down the ladder, and around the wall. Slowly, silently. She passed her mama, who was practicing at the archery range. Her mother winked at her, and she almost lost her concentration. It was okay, though, she told herself. Mama could smell her coming a mile away, so there was no use worrying over it. Besides, she had a different target.

Around the wall, silently, slowly. Across the doorway. Daddy was alone now, sitting down, writing in a ledger. She moved forward, took hold of the string, and cut it.

She had done it!

Daddy chuckled, and her heart sank.

"You let me do it, didn't you?"

With a look of sheer innocence, Brynjolf replied, "Now, would I do a thing like that?"

"Aye, Daddy, you would." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. "But thanks."

* * *

5E 16, 1 First Seed  
"How do you do that?" Rowan asked Ben as he puffed his chest out smugly. The fourteen-year-old boy had just used a spell he had learned on his own to calm a snarling skeever. The nasty creature was just sitting there, looking placidly up at them, waiting to be skewered, which he did without hesitation.

"It's a gift," Ben bragged.

A few years ago, Ben had seen Aunt Blanche casting a spell and had taken an interest. He had talked with her, and she had given him some books to study. With minimal help from the sorceress, he had become very proficient for a lad his age. Rowan liked to tell him he wasn't as good as he thought he was, but he knew better. Mama had said his magical talent was impressive, especially for a Nord, a race not typically adept at magic. Da liked to tease that he was the black sheep of the family, but he was only such where magic was concerned. Larceny was in his blood, and he couldn't imagine growing up to be anything but a thief. The spells he learned, the Shouts Mama taught him, and the hours he spent studying and experimenting were no more than a different means to the same end. He wouldn't need a potion or a blessing from Nocturnal in order to become invisible; he could just cast a spell.

Well, after he perfected it, anyway. He hadn't successfully cast the Invisibility spell as yet.

No, if there was an odd man out in the Stormblade family, it was Rowan. Sometime during their childhood, she had decided she wanted to be a warrior, which was completely hilarious because she had such a gentle soul. Ben told her a hundred times that killing an animal wasn't the same as killing a person. There were even some _animals_ she wouldn't kill. How was she going to kill a person who was looking back at her, begging for mercy? Rowan had said Uncle Vilkas would train her, but Ben just didn't see it happening. Then again, Uncle Farkas was a gentle soul, and he had no problems with cutting his enemies down.

"You've gone off to your own little world again," Rowan said critically as she cut off the skeever's tail and stuffed it into her knapsack. "Crap, I forgot to wrap it up to keep the blood from getting everywhere." She brought it back out, along with a piece of deerskin, and wrapped it. "What were you thinking about?"

"Thinking about you being a warrior. My gods, Rowan, you can't even stand to get blood on your knapsack!"

"I am not having this conversation with you again. Mama and Daddy say I can do whatever I want. Besides, if I don't do well with the Companions, I can always come back to the Guild."

Ben sighed as they continued through the woods, finally realizing he was going to have to admit the truth. "But I'm going to miss you, sis."

"I'll be back to visit, and you can come join us in two years."

"But I won't. You know that. I've even been thinking of asking Mama and Da if I could go to the College of Winterhold."

Rowan stopped dead and drew her bow. Although he didn't see what she saw, Ben did the same. She nodded toward a copse of golden bushes, and just on the other side was a small deer. Ben aimed and stood utterly still, waiting just a moment before Rowan whispered, "Now."

They released their arrows, and both hit the deer, Ben's catching its side and Rowan's tagging it right between the eyes.

"Yes!" she squealed, jumping into the air. She started across the meadow to their quarry.

"Sis, you truly are an artist with that thing," Ben said, following her.

"You hit it too."

"Aye, but yours was the kill shot, and you know it."

Rowan shook her head. "We _both_ killed it. Besides, if I killed it, you have to skin it. We made a deal."

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Okay, we both killed it."

With a grin, Rowan pulled out her dagger and said, "And we'll skin it together."

* * *

5E 18, 24 Sun's Height  
It was just after lunchtime when Vilkas sat down in the Harbinger's quarters with the Companions' new whelp. Dagur Ice-Shield had just arrived from Windhelm and was anxious to get started. The boy was sixteen years old, golden haired and green eyed, and full of confidence and no small amount of attitude.

"So you think you have what it takes to be a Companion," Vilkas challenged him.

"I'm the best swordsman of my age in Windhelm," he boasted. "I've been training since I was big enough to hold a sword."

"If you're so good, why do you want to train with us?"

"Because a warrior can always learn more. My da says you're one of the best instructors in Skyrim."

"Your da." Vilkas sighed heavily. "Let's get one thing straight right now, Dagur. I did not agree to train you because of your da. If you show your worth to the Companions, you can stay, but you will not get special treatment because of who you are. And if you don't deliver results, I will send you packing, understood?"

"Oh, I don't expect any special treatment, Harbinger. You and my da might not get along, but he holds you in the highest respect, and so do I. I won't let you down."

"We'll see. Let's go out to the training yard and test your arm."

The sun was cresting in the sky when Vilkas and Dagur stepped out the back door. His niece Lucia and Rowan Stormblade—who also called him "uncle"—were sparring, and the younger woman was getting her arse handed to her. Poor lass. She had been with the Companions two years and had yet to go out on a mission. No matter how much she trained, how hard she tried—and she did try—she just couldn't get the hang of the sword. She was a master with the bow, possibly even better than her mother. She also did pretty well hand to hand, and she was as quick and graceful as anybody he'd ever seen. Also like her mother, she could disappear into the shadows before anyone realized she was gone. But put a blade in her hand, especially if you put a shield in the other, and she became an awkward novice who rarely showed improvement. Vilkas had tried training her with an axe, and she couldn't get the hang of that either. He was starting to come to a conclusion that she would find devastating: Rowan just wasn't a fighter.

When Lucia struck her hard on the back and Rowan yelped in pain, Vilkas decided to break up the lesson. "All right, you two. Lucia, Rowan, this is Dagur Ice-Shield, our new whelp. Lucia, why don't you give Dagur a go, and let's see what he's got."

Rowan came up on the steps and stood beside him while Dagur met Lucia on the bricks below and drew his sword. Lucia stepped over to the wall and picked up a shield. "You'll want this," she said, holding it out to him.

"I don't use a shield," he told her. "I have two blades."

"Well, you're going to have to learn to use a shield, so you might as well take it now."

Dagur took the shield, and they began sparring. He had been right: he was very skillful with the sword. He bested Lucia his first go.

Next to him, Rowan sighed. "Looks like I'm gonna be a whelp even longer, Uncle." She smiled up at him. "It's my hope that someday you'll realize I don't need a sword to be a fighter. Mama fights with a bow. She even said she wasn't good with sword when she first joined the Companions."

She wanted to go on a mission so badly, but he wasn't ready to put her in that kind of danger. Not if she didn't have all the resources she needed. But he looked into her shining blue eyes and crumbled. "Oh, all right, perhaps something small. But I'll go with you."

Rowan squealed and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Uncle! I promise I won't let you down."

Vilkas chuckled. He had already heard that once today. So many whelps wanted his approval. But these two probably wanted it more than anyone.

Lucia and Dagur finished up and came over. "He'll do," Vilkas's niece said nonchalantly.

"Do?" Dagur countered. "I'm better than you are."

"And arrogance will only get you in trouble. You might be good with a blade, but you're still a whelp, and you'll do what we say. Now, take my sword up to Eorland at the Skyforge and get it sharpened."

Dagur glared at her and then looked up at Vilkas, who merely shrugged. With a grumble, he took the sword and stalked away.

Lucia chuckled. "I love to do that."

* * *

There was a grand celebration that night after Njada and Athis came home from a particularly harrowing mission. Then again, in Rowan's view, there was _always_ a grand celebration. The Companions needed no excuse to party.

She sat next to Athis, who was plying her with drinks and giving a greatly embellished account of the mission, but she was only halfway paying attention. She was busy watching Dagur. He was around the corner of the table in an earnest discussion with Kerr, Vilkas's oldest son. At seventeen, Kerr towered over the rest of the Companions, only his father excluded. He was a hulking mass of muscle with black hair, ice-blue eyes, and a razor-sharp wit. They had a friendly rivalry, wherein each asserted that they should be in charge of the whelps. Rowan was the oldest of the latest batch; he was the biggest and had been here the longest. He had been born in Jorrvaskr, and he never let anyone forget it. It was all in good fun, though, and she loved Kerr dearly. At the moment, she was sure he was giving Dagur all the information he needed about living with the Companions, but she couldn't help wondering how much Dagur would give him in return. She smiled.

Dagur looked across the table and smiled back awkwardly, probably mistaking the grin for something else. But she wasn't flirting. She was smiling because she knew who he really was. Her family had visited his a few times when she was growing up, and a false name could only hide so much.

After two more mugs of mead than she should have drunk, she sashayed around the table and leaned on Kerr's shoulders.

"Rowan!" Kerr greeted. "Have you met our new shield-brother?"

"You mean the new whelp?"

Kerr chuckled. "Well, we're _all_ whelps, no? Or were at one time. So we might as well call him our shield-brother."

"You're right. Why don't you let me sit down?"

"But we're talking."

She squeezed the big brute's shoulder. "You're going to have plenty of time to talk later, brother. Trade me places."

He glared at her for a moment and then sighed. "All right. Dagur, watch out for this one. She's a charmer. Sometimes I think it may be an actual magical power."

Rowan grinned and kissed Kerr's cheek before he got up. When he walked away, she sat down. "So," she said, "tell me about yourself."

Dagur glared at her. "Cut the games, Rowan. I remember you, and I know you know who I am."

"Don't worry," she said sincerely. "I won't tell."

"I can't afford for anyone to know my true identity."

"Does the Harbinger know?"

"Aye, but no one else. Let's keep it that way."

She reached out, squeezed his hand, and whispered, "Your secret is safe with me, Dolff Stormcloak."

* * *

5E 18, 4 Hearthfire  
"Do you have your heavy cloak?" Selene Stormblade asked her son as she watched him pack his bags.

Ben rolled his eyes. "Mama, I've been to Winterhold, and I know how cold it is. Of course I have my heavy cloak. I'm sixteen years old, and you're treating me like a little boy."

"You'll still be my little boy when you're _forty_ years old. Got that?"

"I know, I know. Don't worry. Enthir will take good care of me."

"You think that _doesn't_ worry me?" she replied with a sly quirk of her eyebrow. She sighed, folded her arms, and leaned against the door jamb. "Two years at the College of Winterhold."

"Four."

"Two, and then two with the Companions. We had a deal. Besides, you do so well on your own, I still don't understand why you feel you need to go to the college."

"Because Aunt Blanche can't teach me everything. At this point I don't know if she can teach me _anything._ I'm almost as good as she is."

Selene chuckled. "Confidence is good, Ben. _Overconfidence_ will get you killed. And don't let Blanche hear you saying you're almost as good as she is. She'll turn you into a frog."

Ben laughed at her joke. Blanche had been threatening to turn him into a frog since he was a little boy. For most of his life, he had believed she could do it.

"It's just going to be so quiet around here," she said.

Ben grunted. "It's never quiet around here. You've got thieves coming and going, vampires running all over the place, a jarl in your pocket, the occasional job for the High King, or adventure with Aunt Blanche; there's no such thing as quiet in this house."

"But my baby is going away," she whined.

Ben didn't buy it for a second. "You're teasing now, Mama. Besides, you've still got Da. He's a big baby."

"I heard that!" came Brynjolf's shout from upstairs.

Selene chuckled. She adored her son. They'd always had such a rapport where they could tell each other everything, and they usually did. They were not only mother and child; they were friends. He looked just like Brynjolf, only with her dark hair and blue eyes, and he usually wore his long hair tied into a ponytail. He had already grown a beard and looked older than sixteen, and he was mature beyond his years, practical and determined. He had a brilliant mind—well, he and Rowan both did—and he really had advanced rapidly with his magics.

Whether he was Dragonborn remained to be seen. He and Rowan both learned Shouts easily enough, but they were too young at this point to fight a dragon, so no souls had been absorbed. Selene hoped that neither was Dragonborn. It was a terrible burden to heap on young shoulders.

Ben finished packing just as Blanche knocked on the door. Brynjolf let her in, and Ben equipped his weapons and shouldered his knapsack. With an excited smile, he headed up the stairs.

"You ready?" he asked Blanche, who was going to accompany him on the trip. She was still a member of the college and went up regularly, and it was on her recommendation that Ben had been accepted.

"Of course," Blanche said with a small smile. "Say goodbye to your parents, and we'll get going."

Ben reached out and hugged Selene, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She refused to cry.

"I love you, Mama," he said softly.

"I love you too. Stay warm."

He chuckled and hugged Brynjolf. "I love you too, Da."

"Take care of yourself, and if you need us, you know we'll be there."

"I know." He turned to Blanche. "All right, Auntie. Let's get this show on the road!"

Blanche squeezed Selene's hand—a show of affection that had taken years to work up to—and stepped out the door.

Selene looked up at Brynjolf, still so handsome in her eyes even though his face had a few lines and his temples were graying. Then again, she hadn't come through the last eighteen years completely unscathed, herself. Her eyes were starting to show some lines of their own. But they had been a happy eighteen years. They had finally gotten the peace and quiet they desired, and their children had grown up in a stable environment—well, as stable as it could be for the leaders of the Thieves Guild.

Their children. Both were gone now. Selene sighed, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Brynjolf brushed the tear away and took her in his arms.

"It's all right, love. He'll be fine."

"But I'm not sure _I_ will be."

"I said the same thing when Rowan left, and I'm fine."

She reached up and kissed him. "Well, there's one good thing from all this. We have the whole house to ourselves. We don't have to worry about being quiet anymore."

Brynjolf laughed and picked her up, carrying her toward the bedroom. "Then what do you say we embarrass the town guard standing outside the house?"

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	2. Dragonborn Legacy 1: Undead Things

Dragonborn: The Legacy One

Undead . . . Things

5E 18, 21 Last Seed

Vilkas tried to forget that he had told Rowan he would take her on a mission, but she wouldn't let him. Anything would do; she just had to get out there and prove herself. Besides, it wasn't like she was helpless with a sword. She could fight with one if she had to; she just wasn't the best at it. But let her fight from a distance, and she would be every bit as good as the older Companions.

In the meantime, she continued to train and tried to learn all she could. She found Dagur/Dolff a distraction, though, because he clearly didn't like her, and she hated to be disliked. He would glare at her, especially when she smiled at him first, snap at her when she spoke, and ridicule her swordsmanship. It didn't go quite so far that he seemed to be picking on her—after all, _everybody_ ridiculed her swordsmanship—but he let her know without saying a word that he had no use for her whatsoever. She thought at first it was because she knew his secret, but she was starting to think it was something else. Whatever it was, Rowan found him very intimidating, and when he was in the practice yard, she found it difficult to concentrate.

One night a month or so after he joined the Companions—again, after she'd had too much mead—she cornered him on the stairs down to the living quarters.

"You don't like me," she challenged him.

"They always said you were smart."

"Why not? What did I ever do to you?"

"Rowan, why are you here?"

"I want to be a warrior."

"You _want_ to be. Everybody else here already _is_ a warrior. You're just playing, and we all know it. The only reason you're here is because Vilkas thinks you hung the moons. He tells me I should leave if I can't pull my weight, but you're not pulling yours."

Rowan gaped at him in stunned silence. When she tried to speak, all that came out was, "Uh . . . I—"

"You're spoiled, Rowan. You were when you used to come to Windhelm, and you still are. You smile and flash those baby blues, and everybody around you crumbles. You always get what you want, whether you deserve it or not. Well, don't bat your eyes at _me_ and expect to get what you want, because it's not gonna happen. Now, get out of my way."

She stepped aside, and he shouldered past her and went down into the living quarters. Rowan stood there for a few moments, trying desperately to hold back tears and thinking just how right Dolff was. She had been here two years, and how much had she accomplished? Not much. Maybe it was time to go back home.

* * *

Rowan found Vilkas in his office the next day. "Can I talk to you?" she asked, rapping gently on the door jamb.

"Of course. Sit down."

She walked in and sat down across from him, and he regarded her expectantly. He was so beautiful, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly combed, his face smoothly shaven, and his armor immaculate. His silvery eyes gleamed when he looked at her. When she was little, she had always said she was going to marry him when she grew up. Of course, he had a wife, and he was nearly forty years older than she was, but that didn't deter a starry-eyed youngster with a crush. That was ages ago, though, and the crush had long since gone by the wayside. Now he was just her big, stodgy uncle who wanted nothing more than to look out for her best interests. He wasn't going to take her news well.

"Uncle, I think it's time I went back to Riften," she said unceremoniously.

"What? Why?"

"I don't belong here. I can't fight; you know that."

"Rowan, you _can_ fight. You're right: you don't need a sword to be a warrior. Perhaps I've been too overprotective of you."

"Dagur says I'm not pulling my weight."

"Dagur needs to mind his own business." Vilkas sighed. "Very well, if it's a choice between sending you on a mission and sending you home, I'll choose the mission. We have been hired by a resident of Kynesgrove to retrieve his family's shield from a ruin in Eastmarch. There should be plenty of draugr, at least enough for you to get your hands dirty. I'll go with you, of course; I already established that."

Rowan squealed and practically leaped from her chair. "Thank you, Uncle! When do we leave?"

"We'll leave in the morning. Pack your supplies and get some rest, and we'll head out at first light."

* * *

The next morning, Rowan and Vilkas loaded up a couple of horses and started for Ansilvund, a ruin in the southeast corner of Eastmarch. Even on horseback, the journey would take four days. They made good time as they rode around the Throat of the World, and the trip was uneventful until late on the third day when a Nord in fur armor stepped onto the road just ahead of them and smiled grimly.

"Get down, Rowan," Vilkas whispered, "quickly."

They both leapt from their horses, and Vilkas drew his sword. Rowan took her bow in hand as well.

"What's that for?" the Nord asked. "I'm just stopping to say hi."

Vilkas's eye twitched, and he suddenly ducked as an arrow whizzed over his head. The horses whinnied and bolted, and Rowan turned toward the origin of the arrow as Vilkas charged the Nord ahead of them. She could see a figure outlined in the shadow of the bushes, a woman with a bow trained on her. Quick as a flash and without thinking, Rowan pulled an arrow, drew and shot. The woman dropped instantly.

She had done it! She had killed—

She had killed.

Rowan fell to her knees as an incredible weight settled over her. Darkness seeped in around her peripheral vision, and her head swam. Instead of passing out, though, she vomited the entire contents of her lunch on the ground.

Ben was right. An animal and a person were two different things. Somebody was lying there in the bushes, somebody's baby, who would never walk in the sun again, never laugh at a joke, never enjoy a tankard of mead—

"And never hurt another human being as long as she lives," Vilkas said as though he'd read her thoughts. He knelt and stroked her hair. "Had you not killed her, she would have killed you."

"That doesn't make it right."

"Of course it does. You wanted to be a warrior, Rowan, and this is what it is. I had wanted to break you in on draugr, but this was bound to happen sooner or later."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she leaned against Vilkas and sobbed. He held her for a moment, then pulled back and said, "All right, then. Let's find the horses and make camp. I think you've traveled enough for today."

Rowan was silent for most of the evening, and when she lay down to sleep, she had nightmares. She awoke with a gasp, and Vilkas, who sat near the fire, said, "It gets easier, I promise you."

"I'm such a gods-damned baby," she moaned. "I can just hear Dagur if he finds out how I reacted. I'll never hear the end of it."

"I'm not sure he didn't have the same reaction, little one."

"What about Kerr? He's killed before. I bet you didn't have to dry his tears when he made _his_ first kill."

"You'll have to ask him about that. You might be surprised at what he has to tell you."

"What about you? What was your first kill like?"

Vilkas grimaced. "I didn't experience any shock or regret over my first kill. I killed out of spite and vengeance, and I enjoyed it."

"Uncle—"

"It was a necromancer."

Then Rowan understood. "Ah. Mama told me about what necromancers did to you and Uncle Farkas when you were children."

The scowl deepened at the mention of his brother, and he said, "Try to get some sleep, little one."

"But Uncle—"

"Now is not the time, Rowan. Go back to bed."

He glared her in the eye until she finally sighed and said, "Fine. Good night, Uncle."

Vilkas didn't respond. He just stared grimly into the fire. She shouldn't have mentioned Farkas. They'd had a falling out some years ago when Farkas had made a life choice Vilkas didn't agree with, and they didn't speak anymore. Vilkas wouldn't even talk about him. Not wishing to make things worse, Rowan climbed into her bedroll and closed her eyes.

* * *

They spent the next night in the peaceful Eldergleam Sanctuary, and Vilkas, who was exhausted after getting very little sleep the night before, was grateful not to have to stand watch. Rowan lay awake for a long while, listening to his soft snoring and thinking about the woman she had killed. It was easier with a day behind her. The woman had been a bandit, and she had already shot at Vilkas and was getting ready to shoot at her. Vilkas was right: it was kill or be killed. The night before, she had worried that she would never be able to kill another soul, but as she thought about it now, she realized she would do what was necessary. Daddy liked to say that time made everything easier to handle, and she guessed he was right.

She wondered how much time Vilkas would need to forgive Farkas, or if he would go to his grave estranged from his twin brother.

After getting an early start, Rowan and Vilkas made it to Ansilvund well before lunchtime, but they found more than draugr to deal with. A Breton and an Altmer, both wearing mage robes with skulls emblazoned on them, stood outside the ruin, one of them bent over a cooking pot and the other grumbling about something another mage was doing. Vilkas groaned and pulled her back down the path before the mages saw them.

"A test: what sort of people camp out in draugr-filled ruins and wear skulls on their robes?"

"Necromancers," she responded grimly. She could see the tension in his shoulders and the concern in his eyes. "Don't worry," she assured him, "I'll be all right."

"What I'm about to ask you to do isn't the same as shooting arrows at someone who's trying to kill you."

"You're going to ask me to snipe."

Vilkas nodded. "Think you can?"

Rowan nodded. She started up the path, slipping behind a tree when she got in range. Vilkas, who barely knew the meaning of the word _stealth_, hung back. It was just Rowan and the two necromancers. She nocked an arrow and aimed at the Altmer, who was still complaining while the Breton cooked. He was the easier target.

But she found she couldn't release the arrow. She couldn't just murder him. What if Vilkas was wrong? What if these two mages weren't necromancers? Maybe they were just two random sorcerers who happened to camp next to the ruin. They could have borrowed or stolen those robes from _real_ necromancers. Or maybe they were good necromancers. Technically, Aunt Blanche was a necromancer, and she wasn't evil. And the Altmer was very good looking. Rowan had a thing for elves these days.

_Oh, for Talos's sake, Rowan, _she thought to herself_. Of all the reasons not to kill someone—_

"If Lu'ah fails," the high elf said, "I may give it a go."

"You have no reason to raise the two people in that tomb," the Breton reminded him.

"Hmph! I'll do it for practice. They're nothing to me. Just a couple of corpses ripe for the picking."

Okay, maybe they _were_ evil.

Rowan made a decision. She blinked, held her breath, and sent the arrow flying. It hit the elf in the chest, and he cried out and collapsed.

The Breton snarled, and purple lightning appeared in his hands. "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into, girl! I'll kill you myself and raise your corpse so you can do my cooking."

With that, Vilkas charged him. He swung his sword just as the mage sent the first lightning bolt, and it hit him in the chest, knocking him backward. But Vilkas had been shocked before, and he recovered quickly, advancing on the necromancer and slicing a fatal gash across his waist.

The Altmer was beginning to recover, and he struggled to his feet and called magic forth in his hands. Rowan was ready with another arrow, and she sent him to his death with no more hesitation.

She exhaled as she stepped out of the brush and walked toward Vilkas, where he was checking the Breton's body. She knelt down to loot the elf.

"Are you all right?" Vilkas asked her.

Rowan nodded. "I guess it does get easier. Knowing the evil these people were perpetrating made it easier too."

A check of an exterior tower turned up nothing useful, so they went inside. Major excavation was underway. Tunnels had been dug and reinforced with heavy wooden beams. In a large room just down the first tunnel, a draugr patrolled scaffolding above their heads. Rowan stood back, aimed, and shot the draugr in the head; and it tumbled from the scaffolding and landed at their feet. She crinkled her nose as she looted the smelly creature for a handful of gold pieces.

"I don't know what it is," Vilkas mused, "but the draugr always have gold on them."

They trekked through a maze of scaffolding to find a mage sitting in a chair in the center of a room, watching two draugr pick away at the cave walls. Rowan aimed at the necromancer and caught him in the shoulder. He hurtled from his chair and swung around, calling ice spells into his hands, which he immediately threw at Rowan.

She screamed when an ice spike hit her, but she managed to draw another arrow and shoot him again, catching him in the chest. While Vilkas engaged the two draugr, the necromancer charged Rowan with a dagger. She didn't have time to nock another arrow; with a squeal, she pulled one from the quiver and stabbed the mage in the head with it.

Vilkas, who had just put the second draugr down, chuckled. "Clever."

"Not really. I panicked."

"Well, keep it together. You can't afford to panic; it will get us both killed."

The earth shook as they started through the next tunnel. Rowan looked down to see if she had triggered a trap, but there was nothing. There was a painful gasp farther up the tunnel, and after they turned a corner they found the remains of a falling rock trap, a dead necromancer, and a draugr standing next to a pressure plate, looking as innocent as a draugr could. Rowan took it down with two rapidly fired arrows.

The earth shook again, and a female voice rang through the air. "I am Lu'ah Al-Skaven. Who are you to disrupt my work? Begone, or I will add you to my army of the dead!"

Rowan grinned up at Vilkas. "Shall we continue?"

Rowan got lots of archery practice as they navigated the ruin, because there were dozens of draugr, sometimes accompanied by taunts from Lu'ah. If Rowan could get them in the head, one arrow would take them out. The mages weren't so easy, and she didn't handle killing them as easily. Killing a mage usually required a few moments for Rowan to recover. After a while they entered a small room with stairs at the other end. Rowan started to step in, but Vilkas yanked her back. She had almost stepped onto a pressure plate.

"Thanks, Uncle."

"Watch where you step. You have to be aware of your surroundings at all times, not just at eye level, but above your head and at your feet."

They continued on, killing more draugr and necromancers until they came to a room with a closed gate, a lever, and four puzzle pillars on an upper level.

"The key to these puzzles is usually somewhere on the nearby walls," said Vilkas.

But they didn't find the key anywhere in the room. The only thing there was an altar containing Lu'ah's journal and a copy of the book _Of Fjori and Holgeir_, a romance Rowan had read several times. "I love this book," she said, paging through it, "but it's very sad."

Vilkas picked up the journal and read. "It seems Lu'ah is the widow of an Imperial soldier. She's trying to use the body of Holgeir, who is apparently buried here, to bring her husband back to life. She wants to seek revenge against the Empire for his death."

"Hmm." Rowan looked at the pages of the book and up at the puzzle pillars. "I wonder . . ." She took the book and dashed up the ramp with Vilkas following.

"You've got something?"

"Aye, I think . . . Fjori and Holgeir were warriors who met on the battlefield. They were so evenly matched that they finally wore out their weapons, and they fell in love. It says here, 'As the eagle finds its mates.' Then it talks about Holgeir getting bitten by a snake. Fjori sees a whale while she's on her way to find a cure for the venom."

"I see where you're going with this. The pillars. Eagle, snake, whale. What about the fourth?"

"Fjori got bitten by the snake just as she was pouring the last drop of the elixir in Holgeir's mouth. She died, and he built this tomb for her; then he took his own life so he could be with her. See why I love this book? It's such a tragic romance."

Vilkas chuckled and shook his head. "You're adorable, little one."

"I'm not so little anymore, Uncle."

"In my eyes, you'll always be the toddler who called me 'Vikeh.' So the fourth pillar is a snake then. Let's do this."

They turned the pillars to the appropriate animals, and Vilkas went to the lower level and pulled the lever. The gate opened with a clang, and they moved on.

They found a heavily trapped hallway leading to a locked room containing a chest. The chest had a difficult lock, but Rowan managed to get it open, and they found some gold, some nice jewelry and a valuable weapon inside. In a large room with a handful of sarcophagi, Rowan found a key sitting on a pedestal. "If that's not a trap, nothing is," she mused.

"Aye, but we might need the key."

"So we dodge."

Vilkas stood back, and Rowan took the key, ducking instinctively out of the way. Sure enough, poisoned darts bombarded the area around the pedestal, and though she managed to dodge most of them, a couple pierced her side. She immediately felt dizzy, and she staggered back against the wall and sat down. Vilkas didn't have time to go to her, though, because the sarcophagi burst open and half a dozen draugr crawled out. The ground shook again, and Lu'ah laughed. "I shall have vengeance for the death of my husband. Rise!"

Vilkas fought the draugr the best he could while Rowan vomited in the corner. She managed to struggle to her feet and shoot a few of the creatures, leaving the rest for her uncle.

"Is that all you've got?" Vilkas taunted the draugr.

Rowan would have chuckled if she weren't so dizzy.

After they were all dead, Vilkas dug into his pack for a potion. "It's a Cure Poison potion," he said. "Drink up."

She downed the potion, but it was so foul she almost threw it back up. But it stayed down, and in a few minutes she was feeling better. She noticed Vilkas's side was bleeding.

"You're hurt."

He shrugged and swallowed a small healing potion. "It's nothing. Are you ready to move on?"

"I think so."

They navigated a series of catwalks and locked gates where the key did indeed come in handy. The farther in they got, the more the earth shook and the more Lu'ah talked to them.

"I could not raise him, but I will raise an army to avenge his defilement!"

"Aye, aye, whatever," Rowan muttered. "Quit your whining!"

A pair of heavy wooden doors led to a chamber with an altar, lots of candles, and at least a dozen sarcophagi. A necromancer stepped out onto the platform containing the altar, and the ground shook again.

"They burned his body before I could raise him. It should have been returned to me!"

"I'm sorry about what happened to your husband," Rowan said to Lu'ah, "but don't you think you're overreacting?"

"Overreacting? How dare you! You know nothing! I will have my revenge, and you will not stop me!"

Two draugr with horned helmets burst from their crypts, and Vilkas said, "Deathlords."

"Deathlords?"

"That's what your mother called them. They're more powerful than your standard draugr."

Fortunately, an arrow to the head still killed them. Vilkas had a bit more trouble with his, but he told Rowan to deal with Lu'ah. As she approached the altar, the necromancer laughed.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, 'little one.'"

She shot an ice spike at Rowan, who responded with an arrow. They traded projectiles for a couple of minutes, but Rowan was more resistant to the cold than Lu'ah was to the arrows. Before long, the necromancer faltered, fell to her knees, and died. Rowan bent over, hands on her knees, and panted.

"Not so little anymore," she muttered.

"You did well," Vilkas told her.

Two ghosts appeared on the platform behind the altar, and Rowan approached them. It was a well-dressed couple, and they were smiling at Rowan and Vilkas. It didn't take much to realize who the spirits were.

"Thank you for releasing us from her spell," Fjori said.

Holgeir nodded. "Now we can rest in peace once again. Come, Fjori, my love."

"Take this with our gratitude." Fjori took her lover's hand as a ghostly sword materialized on a pedestal behind them, and then they disappeared.

"It seems you have a new sword," Vilkas told her.

Rowan took the sword and swung it a few times. It felt strange in her hand, too lightweight. But it would be a nice decoration for her wall.

"If our client is correct, there should be a chest around here somewhere with his shield," said Vilkas.

They looked around the chamber, and Rowan finally found the shield in a chest on an upper level. "Success!" she called, and she went back down to where Vilkas had been searching.

"Good," he said. "Let's get out of here and get some fresh air."

Rowan nodded, and they made their way back through the ruin. When they reached the outside, they found it was nighttime, so they dragged the two dead mages into the tower, then stoked the smoldering fire and made camp.

"So how'd I do?" Rowan asked when they were settled down with some dinner.

"You did well. Your mother and father will be proud. Do you still want to go home?"

"Only to visit."

"Good. I blame myself for your reticence. I sheltered you for far too long. You have a quality about you that makes people want to care for you."

"Everybody except Dagur."

"Don't worry about Dagur. You've proven yourself on this job, and if that's not good enough for him, that's his problem."

Being only a day's ride from Riften, Rowan was tempted to ask Vilkas if they could stop in for that visit before going to Kynesgrove to deliver the shield, but he would never agree. Vilkas avoided Riften if at all possible. She could still remember her mother telling her once when she was little why Uncle Vikeh didn't come to visit anymore. Mama had never lied to her and Ben, and she hadn't pulled any punches, even when they were small. She had always told it like it was.

_"Uncle Vilkas doesn't visit anymore because he's angry at Uncle Farkas for becoming a vampire."_

_"Buy why? It's not like Uncle Farkas would bite him."_

_"It's not that. Vilkas doesn't like vampires because many of them are evil, and he thinks Farkas is making a life-changing mistake. In all honesty, he probably thinks Farkas is abandoning him."_

But it had always seemed to Rowan that Vilkas was the one who did the abandoning.

"Uncle?" she asked tentatively.

"Aye?"

"Do you think you and Farkas will ever reconcile?"

Rowan could have sworn the air grew distinctly colder. Vilkas's face turned grim, and he glared up at her. "No. And we're not going to discuss it at this time."

"He just wanted to be together forever with the woman he loves."

"I said we're not discussing it!"

"Well, _I_ am." She gazed into his eyes, and he glared back, but after a moment, his expression softened.

"How do you do that?" he asked with frustration.

She shrugged. "Don't know. Now, why can't you forgive him?"

"He cured himself of the beast blood so he could go to Sovngarde. And what does he do? He turns around and becomes this undead . . . thing. For a woman!"

"I bet you'd do it for Lydia."

"I wouldn't _have_ to do it for Lydia."

"He didn't have to do it for Blanche. Besides, there was more to it than just being in love. Being supernatural suits him. He had been so used to living with the enhanced senses of the beast blood that he was out of sorts without them."

"He's not even the same person anymore."

"How would you know? You haven't spoken to him in years. I don't remember him not being a vampire, of course, but Mama says he hasn't changed at all. Except for the glowing eyes. He's still the big, lovable oaf she always had a soft spot for. Besides, although Mama would probably disagree, vampirism is a lot more refined than the beast blood. Instead of an inner beast constantly fighting for control, the vampire is always inside you, part of you. And the feeding is a lot tidier than the hack-and-slash gorging of the werewolf."

Vilkas gaped at her in shock. "You're not thinking of . . . Rowan, please don't do it."

"Well, even if I decide to do it at some point, I'm not going to run right out and do it tomorrow. All I'm saying is that you need to broaden your mind."

He grunted and said, "A _child_ telling _me_ to broaden my mind. I've seen more things than you can imagine, little one."

"Aye, and you're jaded. I think reconciling with Farkas would do you good."

Vilkas shook his head. "Never going to happen."

"You're twins, for Talos' sake! You shared a womb! How can you just turn your back on him like that?"

"I heard this argument years ago, and I told your mother the same thing I'm telling you now: Back. Off."

Rowan growled and stomped her foot impetuously. "Well, fine! I'm going to bed. But you think about what I said, Uncle."

"I'll wake you when it's your turn to keep watch," he muttered.

She climbed into her bedroll and turned her back, pouting. After a while, she turned over and regarded Vilkas. "Uncle? Do you at least miss him?"

"Every single day," he admitted with a sigh and an expression of pure heartache.

With that, Rowan smiled with satisfaction and turned back over, finally able to go to sleep.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	3. Dragonborn Legacy 2: The Operative

Dragonborn: The Legacy Two

The Operative

5E 18, 9 Hearthfire

Rowan snuggled up to her lover beneath a mountain of furs in the loft over Whiterun's general goods store. There were actually too many covers for her taste, but he was cold natured and required the extra warmth. He lay on his back, naked except for the amulet of Talos that he never took off, sound asleep. It was early morning, and she would have to leave soon and get back to Jorrvaskr for training. She liked to get out to the training yard by dawn; she did her best work in the early hours. But she didn't want to leave Coranil in bed asleep, so she scratched him under the chin.

"Hmm," he mumbled, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Good morning."

"Good morning. Divines, it's freezing!" He pulled her close with an exaggerated shiver. "Are your feet hanging out from under the furs? Are you mad?"

"You know," she said, "I hear heat escapes your body through your head. If you let your hair grow, maybe you wouldn't be so cold."

"I have been shaving my head since before your parents were born," Coranil reminded her with a haughty, high-born accent that didn't match the rest of his personality. "I don't like the feeling of . . . hair."

"You like _my_ hair."

He ran his fingers through her red curls. "Yes, but it's not growing on my head."

Rowan had been seeing Coranil since shortly after he'd purchased the general goods store from Belethor six months ago when the Breton had decided to retire and go home to High Rock. Coranil was an Altmer, with golden skin and emerald-green eyes that slanted at just the right angle to accent his strong nose. His only concession to hair was a tidy goatee of pinkish white. She didn't know exactly how old he was, other than it was well over a century, but he never made her feel like a flighty youngster. Even the men her own age did that. But Coranil was quiet, unassuming, and humble, always willing to impart some sort of wisdom or just listen when she needed to vent. He was secretive about his past, never saying much more than there were many things he needed to atone for.

It didn't matter to Rowan. She liked his company, and he enjoyed hers. It was nothing steady or serious, just comfortable. More than a lover, he was a friend. She supposed he was her _best_ friend. But that didn't mean he wasn't incredibly sexy.

"Very well," Coranil said, "I'm warmer now. But we got sidetracked last night and you didn't finish your story."

Rowan giggled and kissed him, remembering the acrobatics of the night before. Sidetracked. Good word for it. They had gone to Secunda and back last night.

Coranil flipped her on her back and kissed her deeply, and they got sidetracked again.

Half an hour later, spent and satisfied, they lay in each other's arms. Rowan giggled.

"What is it?"

"We forgot about my story again."

"Yes, we did. All right, I'm listening. No more distractions."

"You sure about that?"

Coranil chuckled. "If you try to change my mind, we'll be here all day."

"You're right," she conceded with another giggle. "I actually finished most of the story last night. It's just that my uncle and I argued about his brother all the way back from Ansilvund. I wish he would see reason. You don't turn your back on family."

"But in Vilkas's mind, one doesn't turn his back on his beliefs. It is hard to change after so many years. Certain ideas and practices have been deeply engrained in his psyche, and those things don't change overnight."

"It's been nearly twenty years."

"To an Altmer, that's just a moment."

She raised her head to glare at him. "Vilkas isn't an Altmer. He's a Nord, and he's been estranged from his twin brother for nearly half his life. And you can't lie there and tell me twenty years is nothing. Even for an Altmer, that's a chunk of time."

Coranil sighed. "Yes, it is that. Much can happen in twenty years, even for a mer." He was quiet for a few minutes, and he finally said, "It sounds as though it wasn't a very good trip for you—the argument with Vilkas, your distress over killing . . ."

"Have you ever killed before?" she asked impulsively.

The elf stiffened and took a deep breath. "Yes. I have."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"What was your first kill like?"

"I didn't have the liberty to express my emotions over it. It was just what was done, and I had to accept it without argument, without hesitation, and without remorse."

"But you still felt it."

"Yes. It was terrible. Later, when I was alone, I wept. And I remember the face of the first person I killed to this day."

"That's more than you've ever told me about your past."

"And I'll not tell you anything more. It isn't something I care to talk about. Besides, we were talking about you. Did anything good come out of your trip?"

"Well, we got the shield back to its rightful owner, and I got a bit more respect within the Companions. I'm officially no longer a whelp. Even Dagur raised a glass when they finally initiated me."

"Something they should have done long ago."

"No, Dagur was right. I hadn't proven myself. This trip might have been painful, but I did do that. I had thought about leaving the Companions and going back to Riften, but I guess I'll stay awhile."

"I would miss you if you left. I do enjoy your company."

Someone banged on the door downstairs, and Rowan jumped.

"Just ignore them and they'll go away," Coranil said. But the caller didn't leave, just knocked more insistently. The elf groaned, kissed Rowan's forehead, and slid out of bed, pulling on a pair of trousers and tying the laces and grumbling about the cold floor as he ambled down the stairs.

Rowan got up and slipped into his tunic, which was so big on her that it looked more like a dress, before stepping out onto the balcony and looking down at the main floor, where Coranil was speaking to a courier.

"A letter from your employer. He said it was life or death, so I figured I'd better deliver it before morning."

"Yes, thank you," Coranil replied, taking the note and giving him a handful of coins.

"If you want to respond, I'll be at the Bannered Mare until midmorning."

"I likely won't have a written response. There's no need to wait."

The courier nodded and walked away, and Coranil opened the letter and glanced at it, then folded it and put it back in the envelope.

"Everything all right?" Rowan asked him.

He peered up at her, then turned and came up the stairs. "Unfortunately, no. Rowan, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short. There is something I need to take care of."

"Well, if you're sure," Rowan said teasingly as she sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He buried his face in her hair and nuzzled her throat but said, "Yes, I am sure. It cannot wait."

"All right," she said amiably as she pulled away and went into the bedroom for her clothes. He went into the room as well, making straight for a desk in the corner, where he pulled out a heavy tome and started thumbing through it. He seemed to barely realize she was still there.

"Okay, um, I'll just let myself out, then."

"That's fine," he muttered distractedly. She kissed his bald head, and he looked up and cupped her cheek. "My apologies, Rowan. This is of the utmost importance. I'll see you in a few days."

"Good night, Coranil." She grabbed her bow and knapsack, and left the store.

* * *

_Siivahzen stig lov Fikrin - Ciil tiran ahrk wuth Vul Zeymahmaar gaard. Zrah los_ nahlot dii zeymah_. Kelad naan hask ahrk tal yar wah zey._

After Rowan had gone, Coranil browsed his book of Dovahzul language and began to translate the note from his employer.

Investigate activity near Falkreath-Cyrodiil border and old Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. Key is _silence my brother_. Eradicate any threats and report back to me.

Coranil's heart hammered in his chest at the thought of the mission laid out for him. To be made privy to the passkey for a Black Door was very exciting. He just wondered how his employer had come by it. It didn't matter, though; what mattered was enemy activity in Falkreath.

He folded the letter and placed it into a hip satchel along with some stationery and a piece of charcoal. He dressed in a dark mage robe that enhanced his Illusion and Destruction spells; then he packed a knapsack with a spare robe, food supplies for three days, and a selection of potions and poisons. He strapped the satchel, an elven mace, and two enchanted daggers to his belt. He donned boots and jewelry designed to boost his magicka and help him sneak, and a dark cloak that would also help keep him hidden. And thank Talos it was warm. When he was ready, Coranil left the house and stopped in at the Bannered Mare.

"Good morning," Ysolda called when he walked into the inn.

"Good morning, Ysolda. Is your husband up yet?"

"Haven't seen him yet."

"I must leave a message for him, then. Tell Sigurd I'm leaving town and the shop is his for a few days."

"Are you ever going to tell us where you go on these jaunts of yours?" she asked coquettishly.

"Never," he replied with a smile, then turned and left the inn. It had taken him a long time to warm up to Ysolda. He liked Sigurd well enough, but Ysolda was much too curious for her own good. At one time Coranil would have been suspicious about her curiosity, but he had come to accept that humans—at least the general populace who were just trying to make a living—were basically decent, and very few of them had hidden agendas. Ysolda hadn't been interrogating him; she had simply been making friendly conversation.

Coranil picked up his horse from the Whiterun Stables and rode south. He went through Helgen just before suppertime and made it to Falkreath in the early hours of the morning. Lod the blacksmith was already up and working, so Coranil stopped in. He liked Lod. The man was sensible, hardworking, and unfailingly loyal. He had helped the smith once—some small pittance of a favor—and Lod had become his friend for life. This morning, he agreed to watch the Coranil's horse while he went on his mission.

"Be extra careful, my friend," Lod said. "There's been strangers about."

"Strangers? How so?"

"We don't get many new people in Falkreath, but there's been a few people coming and going from the jarl's longhouse in the past fortnight. Elves, like you. I don't know what you're up to, and I don't want to know. But I thought _you_ should know, just in case."

"Thank you, Lod. You are a good friend. I shall proceed with caution."

Pulling his cloak up over his head, Coranil left Falkreath and crept through the woods until he reached the province's border with Cyrodiil. The road was clear, but in the hills nearby he found tracks and debris that suggested someone had been sneaking across. He found a campsite about a mile north of the crossing site, where two humans lay sleeping on bedrolls. Coranil quietly browsed the campsite and finally, convinced that they were simple hunters, he let them be. He found no further evidence near the border, and as the sun started to climb in the sky, he made his way back toward the old Dark Brotherhood sanctuary.

When he arrived, he found a guard stationed outside. The guard was Altmer, and he was wearing dark elven armor. The rumors of activity had been true. Coranil secreted himself behind some rocks and bushes up the hill and watched. He spent the whole day there, and although only a few people came and went, it was a simple matter to ascertain that they were the threat his employer spoke of. Late that night, when the moons were starting to sink on the horizon, he kissed his amulet of Talos for luck and left his hidey hole.

When training for this job, he had been taught extensively in the art of stealth. Utterly silent and well hidden by his cloak, he managed to sneak up on the guard without ever being detected and slit his throat. Then he approached the Black Door. It was hardly black, really just dark stone with an eerie red glow and a relief of a skull that glared balefully at him. There was also a faint hum that emitted from the door and a lingering fear spell. Just standing there gave him chills.

"What is the music of life?" the door asked.

Coranil almost jumped out of his skin. He had known he would be asked for a password, but the sudden question along with the fear spell nearly made him bolt. He shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself, annoyed that such a phenomenon would rattle him so.

"What is the music of life?" the door repeated.

"Silence, my brother," said Coranil.

"Welcome home." The door opened, and he stepped inside.

The sanctuary was quiet; hopefully everyone was in bed asleep at his hour. He crept through a winding tunnel until he came to a wide room with several bookshelves and a desk. A closed door stood to the left of the room. He rummaged through the papers on the desk, took a few letters, and stuffed them into his satchel. Inside the desk, he found dossiers on Ulfric Stormcloak, his son Dolff, Elisif the Fair, and Selene Stormblade, as well as Jarl Jorgen Red-Mane of Falkreath. A quick scan of the documents confirmed that their whereabouts and actions had been tracked for some time. They currently had no idea where Dolff Stormcloak was, but—at least as far as Coranil knew—the dossiers on the others were fairly accurate. Nothing in Selene's dossier said anything about her family, a notion in which he found great comfort in.

The Jarl of Falkreath might be a problem; it seemed he was actively helping the enemy, probably why there was so much activity in this area. Coranil couldn't assassinate a jarl without his employer's blessing, though, and he wouldn't get that without more concrete evidence. Thus, he would pay the Jorgen a visit when he left the sanctuary. In the meantime, he had work here.

He placed the dossiers into his knapsack and opened the side door. It was a bedroom, and one occupant slept there, snoring loudly. He never even woke as Coranil cut his throat.

A further search of the sanctuary turned up four more individuals, who all died silently at Coranil's hand. He looked through desks, dressers, and cupboards, but he found nothing else that he could take back to his employer. A Word Wall dominated the center of a large common area, and he stood there for a long moment, pondering the script written there and trying to decipher it. It was a lost cause, though; those words were for the Dragonborn, not him. Rowan had said she didn't know if she was Dragonborn, and he wondered if she would understand the scratches on the Word Wall.

When he was satisfied that he had everything he had come for, he called spells into his hands and began shooting fireballs at furniture, banners, anything that would catch fire. The last thing he did before he left was drag the guard inside.

The conflagration raged as he walked away from the Black Door. For the second time in twenty years, the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary burned.

Coranil made his way to the jarl's longhouse in Falkreath and snuck past the lone guard. For someone who was in possibly in bed with the enemy, Jorgen Red-Mane didn't have very good security. It was nothing more than the arrogance that came with having such a powerful ally. In the jarl's mind, he was untouchable.

Once inside, he found the steward's office and rummaged through her desk until he found what he was looking for—solid evidence that the jarl was working for the other side. A letter from "The Emissary" thanked Jorgen for information he had provided and confirmed that they had set up a unit inside the old Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. It also cautioned him to be on the lookout for spies, advice he obviously hadn't heeded. Coranil folded the letter and placed it in his pack, then slipped back out past the guard.

He worked his way through the woods and entered Falkreath through the main gate, then went to Lod, who was just starting work.

"How'd it go?" Lod asked him.

"How did what go?" Coranil asked cryptically.

The blacksmith smiled. "Your horse is fed, shod, and ready to go. Have a safe trip."

It was too early for Gray Pine Goods to be open, so he would plan on stopping for supplies in Riverwood. It was a long trip to his employer. As he left Falkreath, he pulled his cloak around himself with a shudder. Although he had long since been welcome in his employer's home, the thought of going there still made him uncomfortable. They were allies, colleagues, possibly even friends, but how long ago had they been bitter enemies? His words to Rowan rang through his head. Twenty years—just a moment to an Altmer.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	4. Dragonborn Legacy 3: Vilkas's

_A/N: Just to reduce confusion, a reminder that Dagur and Dolff are the same person. Everyone refers to him as "Dagur," but he refers to himself as "Dolff," so when a scene is from his point of view, I use "Dolff."_

* * *

Dragonborn: The Legacy 3

Vilkas's Dastardly Scheme

5E 19, 18 Second Seed

After the trip to Ansilvund, Vilkas started assigning Rowan more jobs, and before long, she was just as productive as the rest of the Companions. She still had trouble with the sword, but she didn't let that stop her if she needed to use it. She did everything she could to avoid using it and improvised when she had to, but she did it, and Dagur could no longer say she wasn't pulling her weight. That still didn't mean they got along. He was always berating her for something or another, and she finally got tired of it and started defending herself.

What started off as sharp retorts eventually led to arguments, and one afternoon in the spring, it finally led to blows. Rowan was sitting in the mead hall, listening to Njada expound on the benefits of using a shield, a chore that always left her in a bad mood because the older woman's testiness was contagious, when Dagur walked up to her chair and dropped a dress in her lap.

"You left this in the bath. Again."

He was right about this one. Rowan was messy; it was one of her worst habits. But she would be damned if she'd apologize to him. "So you went out of your way to come in here and give it to me when you could have walked ten feet and put it in the laundry?"

"It's not my job to clean up after you."

"It's not your job to give me crap every time you don't like something I did, either, but you still do it."

"Oh, gods," Njada groaned.

"You know, if you spent half as much time training as you did bitching at me, you'd be a better fighter."

"Huh, this coming from a lass who wields a butter knife better than she does a sword!"

Rowan threw the dress at him and launched herself out of the chair. She swung a fist and connected with his jaw, and blood flew as he snarled in pain.

"Get him!" Njada urged as others started to gather around, egging one or the other on.

Fists up, Rowan and Dagur danced around each other, throwing punches and the occasional kick.

"I've had it with your shit!" Rowan cried as she threw a jab.

Dagur blocked and landed one of his own, staggering her. "And you think you can take me. I'm the biggest and the strongest, little one."

"You don't get to call me 'little one,' you big piece of horker dung. And you might be bigger and stronger, but I'm quicker." To prove her point, she brought her foot up swiftly and kicked him in the ribs.

Dagur let out a painful grunt, but he managed to catch her leg before she got it away. He jerked hard, and Rowan fell to the floor. He straddled her and went to throw a punch, but Kerr pulled him off.

"She's down. Let it go."

"Aye, such a big man, beating up on a girl," Rowan sneered.

"You started it! Kerr, let me hit her, just once more."

"No, brother." Kerr stepped in front of him, blocking his access to Rowan. "Let. It. Go."

"Gods damn it!" he growled as he backed away.

Kerr turned on Rowan. "'Such a big man, beating up on a girl'? Are you serious? You're better at hand to hand than he is, and you did start it."

"It was a taunt. And apparently it worked."

Kerr rolled his eyes and walked away.

* * *

The next morning, Vilkas found Rowan in the main hall just after breakfast. "Retrieve Dagur and bring him to my office," he instructed.

"Why me?"

"Because the three of us are going to have a little chat. I heard him say he was going into town. Now, go."

Rowan gave an exaggerated sigh and got up from the table. She left Jorrvaskr and made her way to the Plains District, where she asked Mila Valentia if she had seen him.

"He's in General Goods," said Mila.

When Rowan stepped into the store, she found Dagur in quiet, earnest conversation with Coranil. They stopped speaking the moment she came in.

"That wasn't suspicious in the least," she quipped. "What's going on, lads?"

"Mind your own business," Dagur retorted.

Coranil shrugged apologetically but didn't contradict him.

"Vilkas wants to see you and me in the office," she told Dagur.

"I'll be there in a few." He started to turn back to Coranil.

"He said now."

Dagur rolled his eyes and said, "We'll continue this later?"

"Of course. You know where to find me. Rowan, will you be at the Mare this evening?"

"I'll be there." She followed Dagur out of the store and through Whiterun.

"I didn't know you two were still seeing each other," he said.

"Mind your own business," she snapped, spitting his words back at him. Then she shrugged and admitted, "Not as much. He's away a lot these days, and he won't talk about where he goes. He's keeping something from me, and I don't like it."

"Perhaps he's keeping it from you to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

Dagur shrugged. "Don't know."

They arrived at Jorrvaskr and went down to the living quarters, where they found Vilkas sitting in the office.

"Have a seat," he told them.

Rowan sat in the chair by the desk, and Dagur pulled one out of the side room.

Vilkas glared from one to the other and demanded, "Why can't you two get along?"

"Well, he's—"

"She always—"

"Save it. Before you start pointing fingers, know that you're both to blame."

"I'm sorry for my part, Uncle," said Rowan.

"As am I, Harbinger."

"Apologies are all well and good, but what about next time? If you apologized every time you disrupted the mead hall, you'd be in here every day. The Companions are brothers and sisters. We watch each other's backs. But that's hard to do when we fight amongst ourselves."

"Njada said she and Athis used to fight all the time," Rowan pointed out.

"Aye, they did, until Kodlak Whitemane sent them out on several missions together."

_"What?"_ they cried out in unison.

"We've received a request to take care of a Forsworn problem. The tribe at Deepwood Redoubt has been causing a lot of trouble in the area, ambushing travelers, raiding nearby settlements, and abducting people. The activity has stepped up from their normal mischief, and our client wants the tribe cleared out."

"Deepwood Redoubt," Dagur echoed. "Coranil mentioned them today."

"Did he, now? What did he say?"

"He—uh, just the same thing you said, that they were causing trouble."

"How did he know that?"

"Guards and travelers talk a lot, apparently."

"Well, you two are going out there and eliminating the problem."

"Just the two of us are going to take out a whole tribe?" Rowan asked.

"I have every confidence that it won't be much trouble for you. You're ready for this, Rowan, and it will teach the two of you to learn to depend on each other. Maybe if you're forced to work together, you'll learn to get along."

Dagur glared at Rowan, then turned back to Vilkas. "Any advice on how to do that?"

"You know each other's strengths and weaknesses. Use that knowledge to work out strategies, and watch each other's backs. Neither of you are in charge; you're equal partners. Work it out."

"When do we leave?" Rowan asked.

"First light tomorrow." Neither of them responded right away, and he prodded, "Go. Prepare yourselves."

They walked out of the office, groaning. When they were out of Vilkas's earshot, Dagur turned to Rowan. "We might be equal partners, but I have more experience than you, so you will do what I say."

"Dagur, if you have advice, give it, and I'll heed it. But you're not going to order me around. Uncle is right. If we can't work together—_together_—we're going to get ourselves killed. You may be a big dummy once in a while, but you're not an idiot. You know I'm right. I've been in and out of dungeons, redoubts, and bandit camps in the past few months, and I'm not as incompetent as you think I am—or as I used to be. You have to give me a chance."

"Fine. Just don't do anything to get us killed."

"I'm not going to do anything to get us killed! Damn, you're pig headed!"

* * *

Rowan went to the General Goods Store to tell Coranil she had a mission and wouldn't be at the Bannered Mare that evening, then went home to prepare for the trip. Dolff went back to finish his conversation and find out more about Deepwood Redoubt.

"Vilkas said there had been abductions," he told the elf.

"Yes, but not just travelers off the roads for their rituals. Key individuals were kidnapped, a few of which were tortured, questioned, and later released."

"They _released_ them? That's unheard of. Any idea what they were interrogating them for?"

"None."

"What do you mean by 'key individuals'?"

"Unfortunately, just that. I wasn't told who they were or what sorts of questions they were asked. So Vilkas is sending you in to clear them out, eh?"

"Aye. That's not the real problem. The problem is, how are Rowan and I not going to kill _each other?"_

"Dagur, do you know why you dislike each other so? You're just alike. You're impetuous, ambitious, charismatic, both with something to prove, both with too much knowledge of the other's past."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I pay attention. Rowan may seem flighty at times, but in truth, she's smart as a whip and very capable. Just exercise as much patience as you can with her."

Dolff breathed a heavy sigh. "This is going to be a disaster."

* * *

They set out early the next morning, riding in tense silence for most of the day. Just as they turned north, they were attacked by a group of bandits. Rowan stood back and shot while Dagur went toe to toe with them, swinging his twin blades like a whirlwind and slicing his opponents to ribbons. One of the bandits charged Rowan, and she dropped her bow and drew her sword, hoping to the divines she didn't screw up. Her assailant only had a dagger, and she managed to kick the blade out of his hand. After that, killing him was easy. For the next one, she wielded both the dagger and the sword.

When she killed the bandit, she looked up to find Dagur watching her. "What? What did I do?"

"Have you ever practiced with dual swords?" he asked.

"No, Uncle said I couldn't do that until I was proficient with one."

He walked up and handed her one of his swords, then picked up a shield one of the bandits had dropped. "Attack me. And don't forget we're using real blades! I don't want you cutting my arm off."

Rowan took a fighting stance and attacked, and they sparred for a few minutes until Dagur stood back and said, "Amazing. You fight better with two blades than with one. You're actually not bad."

"What's the punchline?"

"No punchline. With practice, you'll come to be much more proficient."

When they looted the bandits' bodies, he picked up a steel sword for Rowan. "Carry this with you," he told her, "and we'll practice some when we set up camp."

Rowan regarded him with a furrowed brow. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm not being nice. I'm being practical. The better you fight, the less likely you are to get me killed."

They talked more as they traveled because Rowan had lots of questions about dual wielding. They practiced when they stopped for the night, and then before they left the next morning, and Dagur said she was already showing marked improvement.

"Just don't go thinking you're a master," he said as they climbed their horses and set out.

"I won't. I'm not the overconfident type. Dagur, thank you."

"You're welcome." With that, he actually smiled at her.

Rowan didn't like the way her heart skipped a beat when he smiled.

* * *

They approached Deepwood Redoubt, a stony ruin set into the mountainside and accessed by dozens of stairs, from the north. Three sentries stood outside the structure, and Rowan took them out from a distance before they even knew she was there. Farther up, Dagur fought and killed another Forsworn who was working at an altar with some potions, snowberries, and a severed skeever head.

An iron door opened into an icy cave that led to part of a Nordic burial ruin. They fought several Forsworn near the entrance, and Dagur was badly injured when he got into a tussle with one of them in the middle of a pendulum trap. The swinging blade nearly severed his arm, but he was quick enough to slip out of the way and prevent the worst of the damage. As it was, the gash was deep and bled freely, but they didn't have time to sit down and treat it properly. Rowan used a Healing Hands spell, and Dagur drank a potion in the hope of staunching the flow of blood until they could find a safe place to stitch it up.

Farther into the ruin, after stepping around myriad traps and several frost runes, they opened a door onto a narrow, covered bridge, where they were attacked by two Forsworn. Rowan shot one of them but missed the other completely, and she stood there swearing at herself while Dagur stepped around her and engaged him, only using one sword because of his arm injury.

"I_ never_ miss!" she whined. "What in Oblivion?"

"Don't be so cocky," Dagur said over his shoulder as he dodged a swing from the Forsworn's blade. "I thought you said you weren't overconfident."

Rowan folded her arms and stood against the door jamb. "I think it's working with you. You intimidate me, make me nervous."

"You two shut up!" the Forsworn snarled.

"Mind your own business!" Dagur shouted back. He thrust his sword into the belly of the Forsworn, who died with a groan; then he turned back to her. "You can't let me make you nervous, Rowan. You'll get us both killed. Besides, I thought I was being nice."

"You think that doesn't make me nervous? I keep waiting for you to rip my head off. Or I'll screw up somehow and _really_ give you an excuse."

"You're insane, do you know that? You're doing fine, better than I would have expected. I'm not going to rip your head off."

"Oh, sure, you're just saying that to give me a false sense of security."

With that, he smiled, and her heart skipped that same beat. "Is it working?"

"Not remotely. Let's move on."

A while later, they walked out an iron door and into a majestic vale. They stood in an elevated yard across a valley from a labyrinth of arches, stairs, and stonework that led up to an imposing tower. A river ran through the vale, complete with waterfall.

"By Ysmir, that's magnificent!" Dagur gasped.

They worked their way slowly and stealthily down the hill toward the ruin. Rowan was impressed with just how quiet Dagur could be in his heavy wolf armor, and she gave him pointers here and there, helping his stealth even more. She looked for a place to snipe from as they descended the slopes and shelves, but there was nothing. They would have to make their way directly up the path in full view of the sentries, who were posted on battlements jutting out from the main platform.

They drew their bows and managed to take out two of the sentries before they were discovered. Dagur dropped his bow and drew his sword, then screamed a battle cry and charged into the camp. Rowan hung back, shooting Forsworn from a distance. Between the two of them, they took six Forsworn out in just a few minutes, although not without injuries of their own. Rowan took an arrow in the shoulder, and Dagur's arm wound broke open. Fortunately, there were no more enemies in the immediate vicinity, and they were able to duck into a tent and stitch each other up.

Although he was surprisingly gentle, Dagur seemed unduly nervous when he stitched her shoulder. "Your hands are shaking," she noted.

"Well, we might not be the best of friends, but you're still gorgeous, and you're half naked. But hopefully I won't skewer you. W-with the needle."

Heat rose up in Rowan's cheeks, and she just knew she was blushing furiously. _He_ certainly was. She didn't know which affected her more, the fact that he thought she was gorgeous or that he was willing to make himself vulnerable like that. In any case, she was too embarrassed to respond, and when he was finishing treating her shoulder, she slipped uncomfortably back into her cuirass.

They looted chests and dressers in the camp and turned up six sets of elven armor and an elaborately trimmed gray robe of a type neither of them had seen before. The armor was too cumbersome to carry, but Rowan placed the robe, which emitted a faint glow of magic, into her pack. Perhaps Coranil would recognize the style of the strange robe.

Up a flight of stone stairs near the tower, they encountered the briarheart. The Forsworn chief charged Rowan from the side and snatched the bow out of her hands, flinging it far out of reach. He swung his blade, which was inset with a dozen sharp animal teeth, and she dodged and pulled her swords. Even with one blade against her two, the briarheart's experience won out. His attacks were brutal, and he did a lot of damage to her side and left arm before Dagur made it over to help. Her shield-brother killed the briarheart, then set her down to stitch her up.

Again, there was a lot of blushing and shaky hands on Dagur's part. For Rowan's part, she was upset that she had done so poorly in the fight and that he'd had to rescue her.

"I have to practice more," she muttered. "I was almost killed because I have trouble wielding a damned sword. And the fact that you had to come and save me must just be wonderful for your ego."

"Aren't you used to this yet? This is exactly what Vilkas was telling us. I'm not going to put you down because I had to rescue you. I'm just glad I was close enough to get over there before he killed you. Look, Rowan, I've . . . been rough on you, and I'm sorry."

Rowan's eyes narrowed. "Who are you, and what have you done with Dagur?"

He chuckled. "I haven't been fair to you. I never even gave you a chance until Vilkas forced me to. I can see now how wrong I was."

"It's just because I'm gorgeous and half naked."

"Will you please just forget I said that?" he growled. "I'm trying to make amends here."

"I know, and I'm sorry. Okay, apology accepted. You know Uncle is going to be insufferable when we tell him his dastardly scheme worked, right?"

In the briarheart's tent, they found a list of twenty names, some of which had been marked through. They also found several piles of bloody clothes in a nearby tent. Dagur placed the list in his pack, and they went up another set of stone stairs and entered the tower.

The first chamber was a dining room, in which they found three witches and a hagraven, who disappeared the moment they entered. They killed the witches and stepped into a side room, which had been set up as a torture chamber. A handful of cages, both on the floor and hanging from the ceiling, dotted the room, along with several torture implements and apparatus. A man, naked and dead, lay strapped to one of the contraptions. They also found another of the ornate gray robes, which Rowan stuffed into her knapsack.

As they moved through the corridors, they began to hear a strange chant wafting through the air. The next room revealed two more witches and the hagraven, who vanished again, but not the source of the chants, which sounded to Rowan more like simple grunts than actual words. They killed more witches and looted several chests as they went through, but whenever they encountered the hagraven, she disappeared. And there was always blood, gallons of it everywhere, as if they had bathed in it.

They finally came to the source of the chanting, and Rowan gasped in delight. It was a Word Wall, and the chanting was for her! The chants grew louder as she approached and focused on one word as it lit up before her. Blue light streamed out of the wall and surrounded her, filling her with warmth and sound as the word echoed in her mind: _Tiid._

Rowan squealed and jumped with glee.

"You're . . . Dragonborn," Dagur said with awe.

"I never knew for sure before now," she replied. "But even though I know what the word means doesn't mean I can use it. I can translate it—it's _Tiid,_ which means _Time_—but I don't understand its meaning well enough to use it in a Shout. I'd need to kill a dragon or talk to Mama for that. There's more to it than just knowing the word."

"Why your mother?"

"She was able to gift Ben and me with her understanding of Words of Power by just opening her mind to us. When you learn a Word of Power, it becomes part of you, and you pour everything you have into the Shout. It's hard to explain."

"My da can Shout, you know."

"Aye, I've heard. Did he never teach you?"

"No, and for pretty much the same reason you just said. He understood it well enough to use it, but not enough to teach it. He said he'd had to study for years just to learn the few words he knows. It was always amazing to him that your ma could learn them so easily. I still don't really understand it."

"I guess you'd have to learn a word to understand."

"Maybe you could teach me."

Rowan shrugged. "I could try. But by the Nine! I have to write Mama and tell her about this! She's going to be so excited. Or dismayed. It's hard to say. She had a rough life when she was younger. But then again, she had the World-Eater to worry about and all that. And the civil war. By the time I was born, all that had settled down, I guess. Ooh, and I have to write Ben too." She giggled and leapt into the air again.

"Well _you're_ certainly excited."

"I am! I may have to go to Riften just so I can learn the word from Mama."

"Or maybe we'll find a dragon."

Rowan suddenly stood very still and the smile dropped from her face. "I don't know how I feel about that."

"I don't know. Being an archer—and Dragonborn—you're probably well suited to fighting dragons. How old was your ma when she fought her first dragon?"

"I think nineteen or twenty. But there aren't that many dragons left now, at least ones that cause trouble."

"Well, are you ready to continue, Dragonborn? We have to come upon this hagraven sooner or later."

"Of course. But don't call me 'Dragonborn,' or I'll start calling you Dolff."

They found the hagraven outside the tower on a high balcony. Rowan exchanged projectiles with her, and she ducked several fireballs and swore when her hair got singed. Dagur finally charged in and impaled the witch on his sword. He cringed as he peered down at the twisted body.

"Ugh. Nasty creatures. That's the worst stench I've ever smelled. Do you think she's ever had a bath in her life?"

Rowan didn't answer. She was standing off to the side, looking at a chest that stood across a wide gap by the waterfall. There was no easy way to it; the wall was too sheer to scale and the distance was too far to jump.

"I think we'll have to let that one go," he said mildly.

Rowan looked up him and grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Would you like to see a Shout I _do_ know?"

"What do you—wait!"

_"Wuld nah kest!"_ Her body shot across the gap, across the waterfall, and stopped on the snowy knoll beyond it. She could hear Dagur shouting at her from the other side, but the waterfall was too loud to understand what he was saying. She turned and smiled at him, then looted the chest.

But when she got ready to go back, she realized her mistake. Going across was easy because her destination was lower than her origination point. But if she went back the same way, she would Whirlwind Sprint herself right into the sheer wall.

"Hmm. Didn't think that one through." She looked at the rocks on the slope heading down to the first level and nodded. It was steep but not too bad; she could make it. "I'm going to climb down on this side," she called to Dagur, using hand motions in case he couldn't hear her. "Meet me at the bottom." He nodded, and she started a careful climb down the rocks as he went back through the tower.

When they met at the bottom, he grabbed her by the arms and glared into her eyes. "Are you out of your mind? You could have been killed!"

"I've done that a million times, Dagur."

"Did you do it before you made sure there was a way back? What if there was no way to climb down? You'd just be stuck up there, and I'd have to figure out a way to get you out."

"You're right; that was really stupid of me. But how fabulous was it! And I got over a hundred gold pieces and a jeweled necklace out of that chest. Well worth it."

"To you, maybe. I aged twenty years watching you fly across that chasm."

"Twenty? That would put you at, what, thirty-six? You don't look a day over thirty."

"Don't do that to me again."

With a chuckle, Rowan said, "Oh, I probably will. You ready to go home?"

He hesitated for a moment, and Rowan wondered if he was considering picking a fight, but then he said, "Aye, let's get out of here."

* * *

Dolff wanted to be angry with Rowan after her stunt, but just like everyone else, he was finding it hard to stay mad at her. That alone frustrated him. He had enjoyed hating her. But maybe he would enjoy getting along with her. He had to admit he'd had fun on this trip. They fought well together, and once they had started getting along, they'd had a lot to talk about. Coranil was right: they did have a lot in common.

When they arrived in Whiterun, they went to Coranil's to trade, and when the Altmer saw the gray robes, all color drained from his face.

"Where did you get those?" he demanded.

"At Deepwood Redoubt," said Rowan. "Why? What are they?"

"Was there anyone there who was not Forsworn?"

"The hagraven."

"Anyone else? Rowan, were there any elves?"

"The Forsworn are usually Bretons, aren't they?"

_"Answer me!"_

But she didn't. She folded her arms and glared at him, lips pursed.

"We didn't see any elves," Dolff told him. "They were all Bretons."

"You're certain?"

"Why is this so important?" Rowan snapped angrily.

Coranil's expression softened, and he even went so far as to come around the counter and take Rowan in his arms. "I'm sorry, my dear. Forgive my tone."

Dolff did his best to ignore the pang of jealousy he felt as Rowan reached up and wrapped her arms around the elf's neck.

"I forgive you," she said, "but you didn't have to be so mean. Just ask nicely next time."

He kissed her forehead and turned to Dolff. "Are you certain, Dagur?" he asked more genially.

"Fairly certain, although we did find some elven armor. Why?"

"Because those are Thalmor robes."

A lump the size of Windhelm formed in Dolff's throat. They couldn't be. Coranil was mistaken. That, or the robes were just twenty-some years old. But they looked fairly new.

"No wonder you got so upset," Rowan said. "Are _you_ certain?"

"Oh, yes." He let her go and went back around the counter. "I'll purchase them from you, of course."

"If they mean that much to you, you can have them."

"No, they're valuable, so I want to pay you for them." He gave them 600 gold for the two robes, in addition to a couple hundred for the other items they had to sell.

"What are you going to do with the robes?" Dolff asked.

"I'm not sure. I just know that I want them here."

They settled up, and Rowan and Coranil made plans for later; then the two Companions left the store.

"Six pieces of elven armor and two Thalmor robes," Rowan mused. "You should tell your father."

"Aye, I'll send him a letter."

She stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr and regarded him with concern. "What could it mean, Dolff—Dagur?"

"Careful!" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Da has always been paranoid about the Thalmor, expecting them to invade at any moment. Perhaps his paranoia wasn't so farfetched."

"Gods, I don't even want to think about that. Has there been any evidence of it up to now?"

"It's hard to say. He has people keeping watch all around Tamriel, but I can't tell if it's real evidence or if it's just his paranoia. Maybe I'm too close to it. And I probably shouldn't be telling you this while we're standing out here in the middle of town."

"You're right. Come on, let's go tell Uncle his evil plan to make us get along worked."

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	5. Dragonborn Legacy 4: False Starts

Dragonborn: The Legacy Four

False Starts

5E 19, 26 Second Seed

After Rowan and Dagur left the shop, Coranil thoroughly inspected the robes, checking every stitch, every secret pocket, every toggle. The Thalmor were pretentious, and there was usually some feature to indicate who the owner was; but there was nothing unique about these robes. They were identical and completely generic. But the fact remained: they were Thalmor robes, and they had been found within Skyrim's borders.

As he was folding one of the robes in preparation for storage, a piece of paper caught his eye. It was lying on the floor just inside the door, probably dropped by either Rowan or Dagur. He picked up the paper and read the list of names, a cold chill running down his spine. He knew many of the people named on this list, but that wasn't all. One of the names was his, or rather, had been his long ago. It was a name he'd abandoned, one he never thought he'd see or hear again. And depending on who knew it, that name could be his undoing.

Coranil locked the door to the shop, then took the robes and the list upstairs. He placed the robes in a trunk, made a copy of the list and placed it in the trunk with the robes, and then quickly packed for a trip. After stopping in at the Mare to tell Sigurd he would be out of town for a few days, he left Whiterun and headed west with all speed.

He rode through the night and arrived at a small farm in Rorikstead the next morning. The owners were outside, working in their field. A married couple, both Altmer, both fair-haired and green-eyed, used hoes to loosen the dirt around their cabbages. Such an act seemed foreign to Coranil, who had seen them in vastly different circumstances.

The male, who was calling himself Mithtar these days, looked up and saw him standing at the edge of the field. "Coranil!" he called, dropping his hoe and heading toward him. "Well met, my friend. What brings you to Rorikstead?"

"I'm afraid it's more than a friendly visit. Can we go somewhere and talk?"

His wife Valinia came over as well. "What is it?" she asked. "Trouble?"

"Possibly."

They led him into the house, where he wasted no time telling them what was going on. He pulled the list out of his satchel and handed it to Valinia.

Her eyes widened as she read the list, and she looked up at Coranil with a scowl as she handed it over to Mithtar. "Where did you come upon this?"

"It was found in a Forsworn redoubt, along with six sets of elven armor and two Thalmor robes."

"Whom did they belong to?" Mithtar asked.

"There were no markings."

"And what redoubt was it?"

"Deepwood Redoubt."

"The Forsworn from the camp?" Mithtar asked.

"Killed to a man, or so I was informed. And there were no elves present."

"So are the Forsworn working with the Thalmor or against them?" Valinia wondered. "I find it hard to believe that all that evidence was there by coincidence."

"Yes, but is there a way to find out?"

"We'll get someone on it right away," said Mithtar.

"Send me."

"We can't afford to put you on this, especially with your name on the list."

"You cannot be serious. Surely you don't think I would be involved—"

"Go back to Whiterun, Coranil. If you're needed, we will let you know. And if you come across any more information, get it to us immediately."

Coranil glared at them for a long moment before turning and leaving the house, slamming the door behind him. His anger didn't cool until he was almost back to Whiterun. He couldn't figure if they were trying to protect him or if they suspected him. It was their way to be suspicious, but after everything they had been through in the past twenty years, he couldn't fathom a lack of trust now. And if they were trying to protect him, well, he could take care of himself.

Fine. He would do his own investigation. After all, he had resources of his own.

When he arrived back at home, he retrieved the list from the trunk, and he got the book of Dovahzul from the shelf. He made a copy of the list in the dragon language and placed it in an envelope, along with a note explaining where it came and asking for assistance. Then he went to find a courier. Luckily, there was one having a drink in the Mare. He handed him the letter and 500 gold pieces, and told him to deliver the package to his contact post haste.

Coranil opened the shop the next morning as usual. At this point, there was nothing to do but wait and just hope whoever made that list didn't show up on his doorstep.

* * *

5E 19, 13 Sun's Height

Rowan and Dagur spent a lot of time training together over the next few months. Once she found her niche, she improved quickly with the swords and grew more comfortable using them in combat, although she still favored the bow. Dagur stopped picking on her, and they became close friends—more like partners, because they went on most missions together. They still argued, and at times Rowan stomped away, calling him big piece of horker dung, but for the most part they fought fairly and their spats didn't last.

It was usually Kerr who broke up the arguments, and he told Rowan once that the reason she and Dagur still scuffled was because they had passion. "You two will never do anything halfway," he told her. "You'll either be bitter enemies or best friends. Or more."

"I can't ever see us being more than friends," she replied, but it was a lie. She thought about him all the time, and she often caught herself watching him. She just hoped _he_ never caught her.

Sometimes she wasn't sure what he thought about her. At times he would give her the strangest stares, as though he were trying to figure out some puzzle. At others, he seemed uneasy with her, weighing his words before he spoke. As the spring wore on, he did this more and more, and Rowan couldn't figure out where the tension came from. Still, he seemed to want to be with her. She finally decided that whatever it was, it would work itself out.

In mid-summer, Rowan and Dagur went hunting to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. They traveled into The Pale, using an abandoned mine that the Companions owned a base camp. Even in the middle of Sun's Height, it was still snowing in the north, where the temperature rarely rose above freezing, and they were grateful for the walls of the cave, which kept the warmth of the fire inside.

They stayed up late, drinking mead and discussing a cryptic letter he had received from his father. On the surface it had seemed like Ulfric's standard letter to his son, just catching up with goings on at the Palace of the Kings and in Windhelm in general, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his wording that was hard to miss. He had warned of extra security in Falkreath and Markarth but didn't elaborate, and he had asked if any questionable merchandise had shown up in the General Goods Store.

"Something is going on," Dagur said as he sipped his mead.

"If it were anything serious, he'd call you home, wouldn't he?" Rowan asked.

"Probably. But I get the feeling there's something he's not telling me. And the fact that he asked about Coranil's store had to be intended to make me suspicious."

"He knows Coranil is Altmer, doesn't he? Maybe he suspects he's into some illicit activity."

"No, that—well, I guess it could be."

"Whatever it is, it may be too sensitive to put in a letter. You know, we had planned on spending a few days here, but we could always go to Windhelm instead."

"No. I want to enjoy this hunting trip, and that's what we'll do." He paused for a long moment, as though he was weighing his words. "Can I ask you something?" he said finally. "Do you miss him?"

Rowan was taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, but she answered anyway. "Coranil? Sometimes, but I'm so used to him never being around that it doesn't bother me much anymore. Sigurd has been at the shop more than him for months, and the last time we spent any time together was over a fortnight ago. Even then, it was just a couple of drinks at the Mare. I think he's been pulling away. Why do you ask, and where did that question come from?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just sort of popped into my head. I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Okay. Good night."

He climbed into his bedroll and closed his eyes, and Rowan sat and watched him doze for a while, until she realized what she was doing and looked away. But she found herself looking back. She liked the way he mumbled in his sleep. She could never understand anything he said in his dreams, but it was fun to try to make out the words. And then there was the way his thick, blond hair curled around the nape of his neck.

She rolled her eyes. _Oh, just go to sleep, Rowan,_ she groaned to herself.

* * *

They set out the next morning and explored the hills and woods of The Pale, searching for a bear. They didn't find one, but they did manage to drop a majestic, sixteen-point buck. They were too far away to drag the whole thing back to the mine, so they set about gutting and skinning it where they were.

"What about the antlers?" Dagur asked.

"Leave them. They make nice ingredients for Arcadia, but they're too big to carry all the way back to Whiterun, and I don't know how to grind them down."

As she spoke, a swift gust of air wafted past them and an enormous shadow blocked the sunlight. Rowan looked up to see a dragon soaring overhead, and her heart practically came up into her throat.

"Ysmir's beard!" Dagur exclaimed. "Any chance it's friendly?"

"Sure. Or it just doesn't see us."

But the dragon did see them, and it swooped low and pelted them with ice crystals.

"Nope, definitely not friendly," Rowan said as she drew her bow and searched her memory frantically for the Shout her mama said was the most important one she'd ever learn. As the dragon rose in the air and came back for another pass, she and Dagur shot fire-enchanted arrows at it. It howled and faltered, but it didn't drop. Instead it soared into the sky and came back down at them.

_Divines, please let this work,_ Rowan prayed as the dragon hovered and took a breath for its next Shout. But she beat it to the punch. _"Joor zah frul!"_

The blast hit the dragon head-on, and it screamed and faltered, taking flight once more only to crash to the ground. Dagur advanced on it, shooting arrow after arrow as it snapped at him with its enormous jaws.

"Stay back!" Rowan warned him, drawing and shooting at the great wyrm.

The dragon managed another Frost Breath Shout, which hit Dagur full on. He staggered, then shook himself off and drew another arrow. The dragon tried to fly again, but it couldn't manage to get in the air. Rowan and Dagur continued to shoot until it finally seized up with a groan and fell dead.

"Whoo!" Rowan squealed, grabbing Dagur into a joyous hug. "We did it!"

Dagur wrapped his arms around her and swung her about. "I thought it would be more difficult than that."

"What do you mean? It took, what, twenty flaming arrows and a Dragonrend Shout. That's hardly easy." She started to pull away from him, but he held onto her and she didn't resist. He stood there with his arms around her waist, smiling at first but then growing serious.

"And . . . um, you took that blast of frost like a champion," she said awkwardly.

"Rowan, I—" He didn't finish his sentence; he just leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.

Rowan closed her eyes, threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled him close, opening her mouth to his. He drank her in, and she could feel the racing of his heart. Heat flowed through her body, and for a moment she thought it was just the kiss, but a great whoosh of air made her pull away and open her eyes to see the dragon in flames. She turned and walked toward the conflagration as the dragon's soul drifted out of its body. For a moment, it was like there was no air, just the heat and the presence that she suddenly felt deep within her soul.

_"Dovahkiin,"_ the dragon whispered to her mind.

"Wow," Dagur said softly as they watched the dragon's scales and skin burn away until there was little left but bone.

"Aye," she said with an uneasy giggle, "that was one heck of a kiss."

He laughed and came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. "Are you going to do that every time I kiss you? I just want to be prepared."

"So you're planning on kissing me again?"

He turned her around and gazed into her eyes. "Oh, yes."

She reached up and kissed him again, and though the heat of the soul absorption wasn't there, she still felt warmth rising in her face and between her legs. For the life of her, she couldn't decide which was more significant—the dragon or the kiss. But they couldn't stand out here in the open and make out all day. She finally pulled away and said, "Let's get back to camp."

"I'm right behind you."

Rowan took a page from her mother's book and collected one bone and scale from the dragon, as did Dagur. Then they finished butchering the buck and headed back to the mine. The conversation was stilted and awkward, neither of them sure what to say now that the relationship had taken a turn. The uneasiness continued after they got to camp and fixed dinner.

Rowan finally sighed and said, "This is crazy."

"What's that?"

"We're suddenly walking on eggshells around each other. There's no need for that; we're just the same as we were a few hours ago."

"Huh. Hardly." She glared at him, and he said, "Suddenly everything I start to say sounds stupid. Just trying to mention that the venison needs more salt is a chore because I'm afraid you'll think I don't like your cooking."

She got up from her seat and went over to sit next to him. "Tell me this: Do you feel differently for me since you kissed me? Or did you have feelings for me before then?"

"I . . . I did."

"So nothing has changed. It's just that now we know how the other feels. It should make us _more_ comfortable with each other, not less."

He leaned in and kissed her, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. The kiss deepened, and he slowly laid her back onto his bedroll and positioned himself next to her. Rowan wrapped her arms around him, relishing the feel of his muscles and the strength of his hands as they played over her body. She moaned as he cupped her breast and nibbled at her lip, then moved down to kiss her throat. He took her hand and placed it on his crotch, then she gasped and pulled back.

"Dagur, I don't think I'm ready for this."

He sighed with frustration and sat up, pulling her with him.

"It's just, Coranil and I haven't officially stopped seeing each other, and it doesn't feel right. I have to talk to him."

"No, no, I understand." But he wouldn't look at her.

"Dagur, look at me." He turned to her, and she said, "I want this. I want _you_. I just want to take it slower."

"Then that's what we'll do," he said with a smile. He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. "We have all the time in the world."

"Hey, you know what?"

"What?"

"We killed a dragon!"

With a chuckle, he said, "Aye, we did. Dragonborn."

"No, no. We've discussed this before. You are not going to call me that."

* * *

The conversation wavered from self-conscious to animated on the trip back to Whiterun. Things were different now, and although most of the time they could still be themselves with one another, occasionally they would remember just how different things were and get nervous.

Rowan was angry with herself for feeling so uncomfortable. They had broken the tension and everything should be better now. Besides, it wasn't like she was inexperienced sexually, and she would bet her last septim that Dagur wasn't a virgin, either. But they were still young, and some things just seemed so much more important. Maybe she should have just slept with him and relieved the rest of the tension, but something had held her back. She hated to admit it, but part of her didn't trust him not to break her heart. After all, he was overconfident, brash at times, known to talk about women with his friends, and most of all, he was heir apparent to the High King. Before she jumped into bed with him, she wanted to be reasonably confident that they had the same intentions about where the relationship would lead.

When they arrived in town, Dagur took the spoils of their trip back to Jorrvaskr, and Rowan went to the General Goods Store to see Coranil. He was actually in the store today, and he smiled when she entered the shop.

"Rowan! How was your trip? I heard you went hunting with Dagur."

"Aye," she said, sidling up to the counter. "It was monumental. We killed a dragon!"

Coranil's eyes widened. "Fantastic! How was that?"

"Exhilarating. Having a Shout that could bring it out of the sky really helped."

"And? Did you absorb its soul?"

Rowan grinned and nodded. "First thing I'm going to do when I get back to Jorrvaskr is write a letter to Mama and Daddy. Well, after I take a bath, anyway. But I need to talk to you."

"Of course. What is it?"

She absently wrapped a strand of hair around a finger and shifted her weight from foot to foot, not really knowing how she wanted to start. She finally leaned on the counter and said, "You've been away a lot, and we've drifted apart."

"Yes, and I'm sorry about that. But I don't see it changing any time soon."

"The thing is, I've become interested in someone else."

After a long pause, Coranil said, "I see. Is it Dagur?"

"Aye."

"And he feels the same, I assume?"

"I'm sorry, Coranil."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, my dear. We had agreed our relationship wouldn't get serious, and I cannot expect you to wait for me while I travel. I only . . . I fear that I'm going to miss you more than I would have thought."

"But we'll part friends?"

Coranil came around the corner, took her face in his hands, and mashed his lips against hers in an impulsive, almost brutal kiss. Rowan wrapped her arms around him and leaned into the kiss, her breath catching in her throat as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. For a moment, pressed against him as she was, she almost believed she had made the wrong decision.

"Dagur is just a boy," he said when the kiss broke off.

"And I'm not much older. Please, Coranil, say we'll part friends."

"Of course we will, my love. When you see Dagur, tell him I need to speak with him, would you?"

"Coranil, don't."

"No, no, this is unrelated, I assure you."

"You promise?"

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I promise."

Rowan left the shop and went back to Jorrvaskr, hopeful that the elf wouldn't do anything rash.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	6. Dragonborn Legacy 5: Exciting Finds

Dragonborn: The Legacy Five

Exciting Finds

_A/N: Sexual situations. Not suitable for children._

3E 19, 7 Hearthfire

All over the southern part of Skyrim, autumn was in full glory. Fall color dotted the landscape and set the mountains aglow, and a brisk wind blew through the air. Animals' pelts were beginning to thicken as their winter coats started to grow in. Treks through the woods were accompanied by the sound of crunching leaves. To many, it was a magical time. But Ben was missing out on autumn this year, because there was no autumn in Winterhold. Just winter. All the time. It wasn't so much that he minded the snow; he was just bored with it and would like to look at something a bit more colorful for a change. A blizzard had been raging all day and the snows were just easing off, but the wind still howled with temperatures well below zero.

But that didn't matter to Ben at the moment, because Faralda was warm and he was inside her. Her moans and whimpers made him crazy, goading him to plunge harder into her as he tried desperately to hold on until she climaxed. She finally cried out, her body tensed, and she dug her nails into his back as she pulsed around him. With a gasp, he buried his face in her pinkish-red hair and released inside her.

"You are so wonderful," she sighed.

"So are you," he replied, kissing her lips, her cheek, her throat. He moved off of her, and she laid her head on his chest. She went to sleep quickly, and that was fine with Ben, because he wasn't much of a talker after the deed was done. He caressed her hair as she snoozed softly and joined her in sleep soon thereafter.

He was awakened by a knock on his door. Faralda stirred, and he groaned. "It's too early for this. Who is it?"

His friend Onmund stuck his head in as Faralda ducked under the covers. Ben didn't know why she bothered; everybody knew they were sleeping together. Still, if it made her more comfortable, so be it.

"You're running late, my friend," Onmund told him. "We leave in less than an hour."

"Okay, fine. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Onmund closed the door, and his lover emerged from beneath the blanket. "Do you think he saw?"

"Probably not, but I'm sure he heard us last night. I think _everybody_ heard us last night."

"Oh, dear."

"Faralda, it's just not that big a deal. Why do you care what people think?"

"Because if Nirya had her way, she would replace Savos Aren as Arch-Mage and send me packing. I don't want to give her any more fodder for my humiliation than she already has."

Ben breathed a frustrated sigh. "Well, if it's so shameful to be with me, maybe we should stop seeing each other."

Faralda glared at him. "That's not what I meant."

"It's not like Savos Aren is going to step down or anything, and even if he did, he would look at your accomplishments at the college, not your personal life." He placed a finger under her chin and raised her face so he could kiss her. "You need to stop worrying about Nirya and just live your life."

"That's easy for you to say. You have no ambition."

"Of course I have ambition. I just don't see the point in making myself miserable trying to achieve it. And honestly, you don't look very miserable right now, either, lass."

With that, the elf smiled. "I'm not. Fine, I'll stop whining. In the meantime, you have a field trip. You should get going."

They got up and dressed, and Faralda did her best to appear surreptitious as she slipped out of his bedroom, but it didn't matter; Enthir was standing in the middle of the common area and said, "Good morning, my dear," as she passed.

Ben chuckled as he pulled on his boots; then he went to the dining room and served himself a plate of food and a mug of warm mead. "Morning, Brelyna," he said as he sat down across from his Dunmer classmate.

"Oh, go to the Void," she snapped as she got up and stormed out.

He looked innocently at Onmund and J'Zargo, who sat nearby and looked on. "What'd I do?"

"You're an idiot," Onmund, a fellow Nord with dark hair and an affable personality, said.

"What? Is she still mad? That was months ago, and I told her at the time it was just the one night."

"You might have told her that, but that doesn't mean she wants to hear you and Faralda making noise till all hours."

"How much noise did we make?" he asked apprehensively.

"This one did not hear you at all," J'Zargo said. J'Zargo was Khajiit, his fur mostly gray but with long, black whiskers trailing down the sides of his face. While Onmund was a good friend, J'Zargo had made no secret that he looked out for himself and no one else.

"It's just that Brelyna's right next to your room," Onmund explained. "She didn't take it well."

Ben stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth. "Great."

After breakfast, the three apprentices donned heavy cloaks and went to the Hall of Elements to meet Brelyna and Tolfdir, the instructor who would be escorting them to Saarthal, a Nordic ruin the college was excavating. Tolfdir wasn't quite ready; he was busy talking to a wizard who was visiting the college as a consultant to the Arch-Mage. Ancano, Ben believed his name was. He was Altmer, tall and imposing, with white hair and a derisive glare. Ben had never seen the mage come anywhere close to smiling. Mostly he just looked at people as though they were something that needed to be scraped off his boot.

"I absolutely must protest," Ancano was saying. "I insist on being allowed to explore the ruins myself."

"I'm sorry, Ancano, but the Arch-Mage was very specific," said Toldfir. "Only full members of the college are allowed. If you want him to make an exception, I suggest you take it up with him. I'm afraid I can't help you."

The elf stalked out of the Hall of Elements, muttering under his breath. Tolfdir watched him go with bemusement, then turned to his apprentices. "Well, then! Shall we get started?"

Fortunately, they had sunny skies, but going was still slow because the snow was several inches deep. The walk to the ruin took just under three hours.

As they came over a hill and started down the slopes and scaffolding to the main entrance, Tolfdir said, "As you know, Saarthal was the largest of the early Nord settlements, sacked during the infamous 'Night of Tears. It was quite a boon to be allowed to explore the ruin and learn about the magics they used. We'll be looking for anything at all that might be of interest."

"Like what?" Onmund asked.

"I honestly don't know. That's why I adore this location: we have no idea what we're going to find! If along the way, the message about the dangers of magic should happen to sink in for a few students, that would be a happy coincidence, now, wouldn't it?"

Ben chuckled. He loved Tolfdir. The old man was enthusiastic about everything, and his eagerness was contagious. He would get so excited over a topic he was discussing that it made Ben want to learn more. If it was important enough to get that worked up over, it was important enough to know. Tolfdir could be overly cautious at times and was always admonishing them that magic was dangerous and precautions should always be taken. The other apprentices found it annoying, but Ben found it endearing. Besides, Blanche had told him that many apprentices had been killed over the years. Old Tolfdir was just trying to keep them safe.

As they entered the excavation and began to navigate stairs and catwalks down into the ruin, Onmund stepped up and whispered, "I don't like this idea. We shouldn't be here."

"Listen, my friend," Ben said, "my ma and da have been in a lot of these types of ruins. Just keep your wits about you and everything will be fine."

"Did anything bad ever happen?"

"Of course. That's why I said to keep your wits about you."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

Ben patted him on the shoulder and continued down a long spiral staircase, where Tolfdir was waiting at the bottom.

"Ben, why don't you see if you can assist Arniel Gane? He's in a nearby chamber, cataloging some of our finds."

"Aye, sir." Ben took a torch and went to find Arniel while Tolfdir gave the other apprentices their instructions. Arniel wasn't as close by as Tolfdir had suggested, and Ben had quite a time finding him. He had to admit, though, that he wasn't in any hurry. He had only been in one other Nordic ruin, when his ma had taken him on a job with her once for training purposes, and he was very excited about exploring this one. He finally found Arniel deep within the ruin, leaning over a table, muttering about his research.

"Arniel? Tolfdir sent me to help you."

"Good, that's fine. Just don't make a mess. I've only looked through a portion of this section. You can check the area north of here. Just pick up anything magical you find, but be careful. We don't want to damage anything."

Ben looked through the chambers and turned up a couple of enchanted rings, which he placed in his knapsack. He walked through a doorway into a room with a heavy grate at the end and a highly embellished recess in the wall. An amulet was set into the recess, and Ben reached out and lifted it from its resting place. With a sudden clang, a portcullis fell over the doorway behind him, locking him in.

The thought of his ma pulling a lever and getting stuck in a room while Farkas turned into a werewolf crossed his mind, and he almost laughed. But another story crossed his mind, too, one his da had told him about spending time in jail, and it wasn't funny.

Arniel didn't even look up from his work, but Tolfdir came running.

"What was all that racket? Is everything all right?"

"No, it's not all right; I'm stuck in here."

"Now, how did that happen?"

"I pulled an amulet off the wall."

Tolfdir brightened. "Ah, the amulet must be important somehow. Perhaps there's a way you can use it to get yourself out."

Ben tried putting the amulet back where he had gotten it, but nothing happened. He decided to try putting the amulet on, and when he placed it around his neck there was a crash of thunder and the air in front of the recess began to vibrate. With it, a power went through Ben, an energy he had never experienced.

"Do you see the resonance between you and the wall?" said Tolfdir. "I wonder what effect your spells will have."

He shot a lightning bolt at the wall, and the whole thing crumbled, revealing a hidden passageway. As the wall shattered, the portcullis behind him raised and Tolfdir walked through. He ambled past Ben and through the gap in the wall, and Ben followed him.

"Well, this is highly unusual and very interesting! Why in the world would this be sealed off?"

"Perhaps to keep people like us out?"

Tolfdir looked at Ben as if he had horns. "Why, I can't imagine such a thing."

The long, narrow passage finally opened onto a small room that contained a bookshelf, some candles, and three sarcophagi. Tolfdir stepped into the room first and immediately froze in place as Ben entered. The air shimmered, and an Altmer surrounded by bright blue light appeared in the room.

"Hold, mage, and listen well. Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgment _will_ be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you."

"Set in motion how? By coming here? The amulet?" The Altmer nodded. "Who are you?"

"I am Nerien. I give you this warning because the Psijic Order believes in you. You alone, Ben Stormblade, have the potential to prevent disaster."

"How do you know my name?"

"Take great care, and know that the order is watching."

Nerien vanished, along with the blue light, and Tolfdir stared moving again.

"I . . . I felt something strange just then. What happened?"

"Some sort of apparition appeared to me. He said events had been set into motion, and there was danger ahead. He mentioned the Psijic Order."

"Are you sure about that? That's very odd. And danger ahead? That doesn't make any sense at all."

Ben shook his head. Standing in the middle a Nordic ruin and not thinking there could be danger ahead? _That_ didn't make any sense.

"The Psijics have no connection to these ruins," Tolfdir continued, "and no one's even seen their order in a long time. Until we know more, I think it best that we continue our original investigation, no? Just be careful. Who knows what we're going to find?"

They started inspecting the coffins in the little room and Ben asked, "What is the Psijic Order?"

"They were a group of mages with a history that predates the Empire. Very powerful, very secretive. About a century ago, they vanished, along with their sanctuary on the Isle of Arteum."

"Well, why are they contacting me? He knew my name."

"I have no idea, but it's fascinating. If nothing else, I'd take it as a compliment. The Psijics have only ever dealt with those they've felt worthy."

As Ben approached one of the sarcophagi, it burst open, as did the one across from it. He heard Tolfdir cry out in surprise as draugr stepped out of the two coffins. Ben took his out easily with a chain lightning spell, and he turned to see that Tolfdir had defeated his draugr as well. The lid of the third sarcophagus had opened to reveal another passage.

They came upon a round room with a portcullis at one end and several sarcophagi lining the room. Four of them popped open, and they had to fight the draugr that emerged. Ben's ranged attacks and the storm atronach Tolfdir summoned ensured the weak draugr didn't have a chance, and soon all four were lying dead.

"I've never seen anything like this in a Nordic ruin before," Tolfdir exclaimed.

"Really? My mother says they're all like this."

"These coffins bear closer inspection. I'd like to stay awhile and examine this. You should press on and see if you can find whatever this vision of yours mentioned. But be careful; it could be truly dangerous. I'll catch up before long."

Ben pulled a chain on the wall to open the gate and went through. He pulled his sword but kept his lightning spell ready in his left hand, fairly trembling with exhilaration. Although this was his second Nordic ruin, the first had been just a tagalong on his mother's adventure. This was _his_ adventure, and he had been chosen for something. He rolled his eyes and admonished himself for not having sense enough to be afraid.

Along the way, he fought a few draugr, skirted a couple of runes, looted some chests, and worked out a pillar puzzle. He also got blistered when he passed too close to a lightning rune. He spent half an hour working on another puzzle where the pillars wouldn't stay where he put them. Turning one would invariably turn one of the others. He found he had to turn them in just the right order so that the correct shape would show up on the other pillars. Just about the time he thought he was going to scream from frustration, the correct pattern worked out and the gate opened. "'Bout damn time," he muttered as he went through.

"I thought it high time I caught up with you," Tolfdir said as he walked through the gate behind him. "Have you had any trouble? I noticed a few dead draugr."

"Nah, it wasn't so bad. I'd fought draugr once before, so I knew what I was doing."

"Just don't become too overconfident, my boy. It could be dangerous."

"You sound like my da."

They opened a door and descended into a room dominated by a huge sphere, which rotated in the air and pulsed with energy. It was surrounded by a force field of swirling blue light. An altar and throne stood before the orb, and a draugr with a high, horned helmet lounged in the seat.

"Well, now," Tolfdir murmured. "Will you look at that? I never imagined we'd find something like this! Why is this buried so far within Saarthal?"

"Maybe this was what the Psijic monk was talking about."

"I . . . I suppose it's possible. This is so fascinating!"

The draugr noticed them and got up, tottering toward the stairs and attacking. Ben brandished his sword and hurled lightning spells at it, but the creature just laughed and kept coming. _Now_ he had sense enough to be frightened, but he kept fighting.

"You keep it busy," Tolfdir said. "I'm going to try something."

Although Ben couldn't see exactly what the old mage was doing, it seemed he was trying to weaken the force field around the orb. In the meantime, Ben ducked and dodged the huge draugr's onslaught of frost spells.

Suddenly the force field dropped and Tolfdir cried, "There! Now attack it!"

Ben zapped the draugr and swung his sword, but the damn thing wouldn't drop. "_Yoor tu shul!"_ he Shouted.

Flames exploded from Ben's mouth and engulfed the draugr, who finally dropped. When he looted the creature, and he found a staff, part of an amulet, and some sort of writ. It read:

Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer.  
Condemned by your crimes against realm and Lord.  
May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever,  
And the charm which you bear be sealed by your ward.

"Hey, Tolfdir, take a look at this."

Tolfdir looked at the amulet and the writ. "How interesting! Why, this ruin is just filled with unusual artifacts! Take those back to the college, and we'll study them with the class." He turned to the orb. "I'm not the only one seeing this, am I? Why, this is utterly unique."

Unique, it was. It was made of crystal in several shades of blue and gray and was carved with a pattern of deep, green-glowing grooves. Pale blue runes lined the green furrows. The orb floated in the air between four pillars and several feet above a bed of the same material.

"What is that thing?" Ben asked.

"I have no idea! The Arch-Mage must be informed about this at once. He needs to see it for himself. I don't dare leave it unattended. Would you go back to the college and tell Savos Arena about our find?" Ben turned and started to go out the way he had come in, but Tolfdir said, "These ruins usually have secret exits. Try that door beyond the orb. And please, hurry."

Ben went through the door Tolfdir had pointed out and down a narrow passage until he came to a chamber with a Word Wall. He had encountered one in the ruin his mother had shown him, so he knew what to expect, but that made it no less invigorating as the warmth and the chanting surrounded him and the word formed in his mind.

_Iiz. Ice._

He stood for a long time and studied the wall, trying to decipher the other words engraved into it. He recognized a few, but he couldn't translate the whole thing. His ma had written a book with the dragon language. He was going to have to get a copy for himself so he could read these things.

The door beyond the Word Wall led him back through the excavation, and he made his way to the college as quickly as he could. Savos Aren, a studious Dunmer with wise eyes and an officious manner, sat in his study with a book.

"I need to speak with you, Arch-Mage. It's about Saarthal."

The mage looked up with a long-suffering sigh. "Please don't tell me another one of the apprentices has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now."

"None that I know of. We discovered some sort of orb in the ruin. Tolfdir wanted you to see it."

"I trust he will provide a more . . . specific explanation. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You can start researching the subject. Speak with Urag in the Arcaneum, tell him of your find, and see if he has any books. Report back to me with any information you come up with. Will there be anything else?"

"Aye," Ben said tentatively. "Have you ever met anyone in the Psijic Order?"

"One of them used to advise the Arch-Mage when I was an apprentice here, but that was a great many years ago. The Psijics haven't been heard from in over a century. Why do you ask?"

"I might have received a message from one of them."

"Really? I highly doubt that."

"He appeared to me as an apparition and said he was with the order."

"I see. Well, be sure to mention that to Urag as well. You're dismissed."

Ben ran into Faralda on the way to the Arcaneum, pretty in her gray robes with her hair pulled back into pigtails, and told her what he had found. She was less interested in the orb than the piece of the amulet. "Check with Urag to see if he has any books about that, too."

"I will. I'm also going to send a letter to my ma. It sounds like something she and my da might know something about. Well, I'm off to see Urag." He reached up and tugged gently on her pigtail. "You be around later?"

"I'm off to teach a class on runes, but I'll find you this evening."

He went to the Arcaneum and found Urag gro-Shub, an old orc with snow-white hair and beard and a perpetual scowl. He was gruff, rude, and not afraid to threaten the life of anyone who mistreated his precious books. Ben adored him.

"You are now in the Arcaneum, and it may as well be my own little plane of Oblivion," the orc said, repeating a litany Ben had heard a dozen times. "Disrupt my Arcaneum, and I will have you torn apart by angry atronachs."

"You know, Urag, some people might like that."

"Don't get smart with me, Stormblade," he growled. "Even your mother was afraid of me."

Ben smiled. "Somehow I doubt that."

With that, the orc chuckled. "Well, I already know why you're here. Word travels fast. Discovered some big mystery, huh? I don't have anything for you. Not anymore anyway. The pertinent materials have been stolen. Orthorn was an apprentice here at the college. Not very skilled, but he got involved with a group of mages who took a liking to him. When they left, he took a bunch of books and supplies and followed them. They're all holed up in Fellglow Keep these days."

"And you let him get away with that?"

"Wasn't my choice. There was no one to go after him. Needless to say, I was not pleased."

"Why did the mages leave for Fellglow Keep?"

"Let's just call it a difference of opinion with the college. They were interested in research that goes outside the bounds of what is allowed, so they were, ahem, persuaded to leave."

"Are the books worth retrieving?"

"Are they worth it? Of course, they're worth it! What kind of question is that? You up for a little quest?"

"Sure, Urag. Where is Fellglow Keep?"

"Just northeast of Whiterun."

"Hey, that's great!" Ben cried. "I can see my sister while I'm down there. She's a Companion; maybe she can help me get into the keep."

"She might come in handy. Somehow I don't see these mages giving the books up willingly. Be prepared for a battle. Just bring them to me when you get them. And feel free to teach Orthorn a lesson about stealing from the Arcaneum."

Ben laid the amulet and writ on the counter. "What about these? Do you know anything about them?"

Urag read the page and studied the amulet carefully. "Perhaps. Leave them with me and I'll do some research. This may prove to be quite a find as well."

As Ben started to leave the library, Ancano stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "You there. I have questions for you. You were in Saarthal, yes? It has come to my attention that something was found there."

"It's an archeological expedition. Of course something was found there."

"I'm not talking about trinkets. Please do not insult my intelligence."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that."

"Tolfdir is still there now, is he? I shall expect a full report when he returns."

This guy was starting to get on Ben's nerves. "And you're telling me this, why? If you want Tolfdir to report, ask him yourself."

"I warn you, impertinence will not be tolerated."

"Why does this matter to you anyway? Aren't you just here to consult with the Arch-Mage? This isn't really any of your business."

"Something was discovered in Saarthal that was significant enough that Tolfdir sent a new member of the college, alone, to deliver word. That sounds precisely like something that should matter to _everyone_. Especially me."

"I'm not new."

"Enough. You may go now."

"Thank you, oh, respected, noble sir." Ben gave a little bow as he shouldered past the mage. As he started down the stairs, he muttered, "Asshole."

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	7. Dragonborn Legacy 6: Shield-Siblings

Dragonborn: The Legacy Six

Shield-Siblings

5E 19, 11 Hearthfire

Ma would probably kill him herself if she knew he was traveling without a companion, but Ben set out alone from Winterhold the next day. When she admonished him about it and he arrived in Whiterun without incident three days later, he would say, "See? Nothing bad happened." She'd never believe him. But it was true; he had a fairly uneventful trip from Winterhold to Whiterun.

Okay, except for the bear. But it wasn't like he'd never killed a bear before.

And those bandits. But she and Da had taught him well. He snuck by them, and they never even knew he was there.

Besides, he knew she had traveled alone when she was younger. In fact, she had _lived _alone, out in the wilds, for years. What was the difference?

Ben arrived in Whiterun mid-morning and made his way through town, up the stairs to the Wind District, and through the big doors of Jorrvaskr. He'd been here before, of course; the Companions were family. He hadn't been here since Rowan had joined, though, and he couldn't wait to see her again. He missed his sister.

She was the first person he saw when he walked in. She was sitting at one end of the big, U-shaped table, wearing the leather and dragon bone armor Ma had made for her and talking quietly with some guy. In fact, she was talking a little _too_ quietly with him and didn't even look up when Ben came in.

Vilkas, did look up, however, and he greeted him warmly, getting up from his seat at the other end of the table and coming up the stairs with his arms out. "Ben!" he called as he embraced him. "It's good to see you, lad!"

"You, too, Uncle."

"Ready to join us?"

"Not quite."

Rowan looked up at the mention of his name, and when she saw him she squealed and rocketed out of her chair. She vaulted over the steps and patted Vilkas on the shoulder. "All right, Uncle, it's my turn." When Vilkas let go, she wrapped her arms around Ben and hugged him tightly.

Her friend came up the steps behind her and ceased to be "some guy." It was Dolff Stormcloak.

"What are you doing here?" Rowan asked him as she pulled back.

"I came to visit my big sister. And see if you wanted to run an errand with me."

"What kind of errand?"

"The kind where we enter a fort crawling with rogue mages to get back some books that were stolen from the college."

"Ooh, sounds fun. Uncle?"

"It's fine," said Vilkas. He clapped Ben on the shoulder and went back to his breakfast.

Dolff stepped up behind Rowan, but before Ben could greet him, Rowan said, "Ben, this is my friend, Dagur Ice-Shield. Dagur, my brother Ben."

"Good to meet you, Ben," Dolff said as if they'd never met.

Ben could take a hint. He held a hand out for "Dagur" to shake. "Aye, you, too. What brings you to Whiterun, Dagur?"

"Oh, I've always wanted to join the Companions."

He had. It had been his dream since they were lads. But Ben never thought Ulfric would actually allow him to do so. But here he was, wearing wolf armor and using a false name. And what was more, he was resting his hand on the small of Rowan's back.

"You two, uh, get to know each other while I go pack. How far are we going?"

"Fellglow Keep, just north of here. Less than a day's walk."

"Great." She reached up and kissed Ben on the cheek, then squeezed Dolff's hand as she walked away.

"Come in, sit down," Dolff urged him. He led Ben to the seat Rowan had occupied. "So how are you faring at the College of Winterhold?" Before Ben could answer, the only person within earshot walked away, and Dolff leaned in, grinned, and whispered, "Surprise."

"I can't believe your da let you come!" he replied softly.

"It was a battle for the ages, believe me."

"Who knows?"

"At Jorrvaskr, just Rowan and Vilkas. So how _are_ you faring at the college?"

"I love it. I'm learning a lot, and I'm actually being allowed to work on a major project. And the women are . . . not what you'd expect at a college full of mages."

"Still girl crazy, are you?" Ben shrugged in response. "So you're getting busy, then—sorry, _keeping_ busy."

"Aye, that, too."

"What's this major project?"

"We found a giant orb in a Nordic ruin, and I'm helping with research."

"Getting back stolen books is research?"

"Okay, I suppose it's grunt work. Or maybe 'hired thug' type work. There will probably be fighting. I was just glad to get to come south for a few days and see my sister. And speaking of getting busy, what are you doing with her?"

"What makes you think I'm doing _anything_ with her?" Dolff asked innocently.

"Oh, I don't know, the way you were talking when I came in, your hand on her back, her taking your hand before she walked away."

"You still don't miss a thing, do you?"

He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Dolff, you're one of my closest friends, and I love you like a brother. But if you hurt my sister, I'll melt you from the inside out."

"Can you _do_ that?"

"I'm serious."

"Your sister is a big girl, Ben. She can take care of herself, believe me. But I have no intention of hurting her."

Rowan came up the stairs with her bow, two swords, and a knapsack. She stopped next to Vilkas and said goodbye, then walked over to Ben.

"I have to stop at the General Goods Store before we leave town," she said.

"Well, whenever you're ready."

She walked around Ben and stood next to Dolff's chair, and he stood up. "I'll see you in a few days," she cooed.

"Take care, and fight well," he said softly.

"I will." She reached up and kissed him, and Dolff had the good sense to look embarrassed. She bounded up the stairs and out the door, and Ben patted Dolff amiably on the shoulder and followed her out.

"So," he said as they descended the steps. "You and—"

"Dagur."

"I thought you hated each other. You always did when we were growing up."

"Things change."

"Is it serious?"

"Well, I'm not going to go out and pick up an Amulet of Mara anytime soon, if that's what you're asking. But it's nice." She led him to the General Goods Store in the center of town.

Ben remembered Belethor from when he was a child, but the Breton was no longer there. The new owner was Altmer, and he looked at Rowan like he knew way too much about her.

"Coranil, this is my brother Ben. Ben, this is Coranil."

"It's a pleasure, Ben. I've heard much about you."

"Have you, now?"

"I was stopping in to see if you had managed to get that circlet," said Rowan.

"Yes, I have, actually." He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a silver circlet with a gleaming moonstone in the center. It gave off a faint glow of magic.

"Oh, you enchanted it!" Rowan said as she took it from him.

"Yes, it will improve your archery and protect you from fire. Seems you're always getting burned, doesn't it?"

"Cor, thank you. How much?"

"I told you I wouldn't charge you for it."

"But this is too much. It's not a fair trade."

"I assure you, love, it's more than fair."

Rowan slipped the circlet under her bangs and lowered it onto her forehead. "How's it look?"

"It brings out your eyes."

With a giggle, she said, "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to pay for it?"

"You already have," he replied pointedly.

"Okay, okay, fine. Ben, do you need anything before we go?"

"Nope."

"Where are you off to?" the Altmer asked.

"Fellglow Keep."

Coranil furrowed his brow. "Truly, now?"

"Why?" Rowan asked.

"The mages from Fellglow Keep come into the shop every now and again. They're purporting themselves to be a small magic college, but more is going on there than a few classes. I do know they're teaching necromancy. I've heard them discussing their experiments, and I believe vampires may be involved."

"How so?" Ben asked with concern.

"From their conversations, I would say they were experimenting on the vampires."

The comment made Ben's blood boil. Vampire problems were rare in Skyrim. A few powerful vampires policed the rest, and most of them kept to themselves and caused very little trouble. Even when they did, taking down a rogue vampire and using them for magical experiments were two different things.

Rowan placed a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

"You know how I feel about it."

"Well, if they are experimenting on vampires, we'll take care of it. Cor, do you know anything else about them?"

"It's safe to expect ten, perhaps fifteen mages, so you'll want to proceed with caution."

"What do you mean? I'm the very soul of caution."

"Yes, and I'm a Breton maiden. Be careful, Rowan."

Ben couldn't help chuckling. "I'll keep her in line," he assured the elf.

They said goodbye and left the shop.

"Go ahead," she said. "Get it over with."

"I can see that I'm going to have to leave the college a year early and join the Companions just to keep an eye on you. You have something going with him too?"

"_Had_. We're just friends now."

"Maybe _you_ are."

Rowan stopped in the middle of the street and placed her hands on her hips. "Why don't we talk about _your_ love life, huh?"

"What? I have no love life."

"I know you, little brother, and I don't believe that for a second. So just mind your own business, okay?" She started walking again, and Ben rushed to catch up with her.

"I'm just looking out for my big sister."

"You're being a pain, is what you're doing. I'm the oldest; I'm supposed to look after _you_, remember?"

"I thought we looked after each other."

As they walked through Whiterun's gates and started up the road, she chuckled. "Do you know how weird it feels to be talking about sex with you?"

"So you _are_ sleeping with Dolff."

"No! Not . . . not yet. We're taking things slow. So what about you?"

"Well, there's this one Altmer. Her name is Faralda. She's an instructor."

"An _instructor?_"

"I think you'd like her."

"Is it serious?"

"Nah, we're just having a good time."

They turned northward at Black-Briar Meadery West as the sun hit its peak in the sky. The conversation dropped off, and Ben began to think about the mages at Fellglow Keep. From what Coranil had said, it seemed like they might have a decent fight on their hands.

"Hey, Ben?" Rowan said after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever killed a person?"

"Aye. Blanche and I were attacked by bandits on the way to the college. Why?"

"Because I just wanted you to be prepared."

"Don't worry, Ro. I've already been through the nausea and self-loathing stage. I'll do what I have to do. If they're experimenting on vampires, it'll just make it that much easier."

"Still thinking of becoming one?"

"Thinking about it, but it's not something you jump into without extensive consideration. I'm only seventeen, and I have a lot of living to do."

"You've talked to Blanche?"

"Aye, and she's all for it. But I need to talk to a vampire who's against it before I made any decisions. And I'm sure Ma and Da will want grandchildren."

They found the fort up a steep slope near a shrine of Talos just after sunset and had to fight two mages and an atronach on a tower south of the main keep. Rowan shot a flaming arrow at one of the mages, who retaliated with fire of his own, and Ben was glad his sister was wearing the fire protection gear because the blast hit her head on. She was fine, though; she just swore and shot another arrow at him.

Ben took the other one, who charged him with a sword. He threw up a ward and swung his blade at her, missing her by less than an inch.

"You will die this night," she snarled as she jabbed her weapon at him. She was inexperienced and the move was awkward, and Ben blocked easily and came back around for another hit with his own sword, slicing deeply into her side. She fell to the ground and died with a groan.

Rowan had just sent an arrow at the atronach, but unfortunately all the arrows she had were fire enchanted. The arrows themselves did damage, but the magic was wasted. Ben hurled a Freeze spell at the atronach, and she fell to the ground and exploded. Ben wasn't much into the Conjuration school, but he thought he would like to be able to summon a flame atronach. They were pretty and graceful—at least when they weren't attacking him.

Just past the atronach, they found a flight of stairs that led to an underground entrance. Once inside, they trudged through partly submerged ruins. They entered a room that was hip-deep in water and found a mage standing on a balcony with two frostbite spiders.

"Ah, new test subjects. Go, my pets! Attack!"

Rowan squealed as the spiders came down the stairs at them, but her arrow shot true, and the first spider went legs up in the water. Ben took the other one out with a firebolt, then exchanged lightning with the mage as Rowan dashed up the stairs and out of the sizzling water. His robes protected him from shock damage, but he still took a couple of painful burns on his chest chest before he managed to drop the wizard.

Rowan used a Become Ethereal Shout and went through a lightning rune and into a dungeon where a mage was waiting with a Freeze spell. She dodged the spell and put an arrow between the sorceress's eyes, and they entered the room to find three vampires locked in the cages.

"Hold on," Ben told one of the vampires. "I'm going to get you out."

"Begone, food," she snapped.

"Oh, just shut up." He started to pick the lock, but Rowan tapped him on the shoulder.

"There are levers over there."

"That'll help." Ben went to the wall and threw the levers, and the vampires stepped out. The one who had called him food nodded her thanks as she followed the others through a door into a dimly lit room, where they were attacked by two mages.

"Look out," one of the mages cried. "The prisoners are loose!"

The room was small to join the fray, so Ben and Rowan stood in the doorway and watched. In the end, both mages and only one of the vampires remained alive. She came over to Ben.

"Why would you help us?" she asked.

"We have friends who are vampires, and I know better than to attack you on sight."

"Well, you have my thanks, Nord." She started to leave.

"Wait," he said. "Can I ask you something?" She looked at him expectantly, and he said, "Do you like being a vampire?"

"Who are you to ask me such a thing?" she huffed.

"I'm someone who's considering doing it."

"Well, don't. It's a living hell." Without another word, she walked past him and back through the dungeon.

"Okay, that didn't help much."

"Think we should go after her and tell her Falion has a cure?" Rowan asked.

Ben shook his head. "I don't think she wants our advice."

Ben and Rowan looked around the room and found three other vampires lying dead on tables. By the marks on their bodies, Ben surmised that the mages were indeed experimenting on them. He growled ominously.

As they continued on, they began to hear the howl of a wolf. They found two of them in a large chamber with three prison cells. An Altmer stood in one of the other cells. "Help!" he cried out, alerting the wizard who was sitting in the living area on the opposite side of the room.

Rowan shot the mage with one of her flaming arrows, and she and Ben approached the cell.

"Thanks for not giving our presence away," Ben sneered.

"Please! Please let me out of here. They're going to do something dreadful to me!"

"Are you Orthorn?"

"Yes, yes! Arch-Mage Aren sent you to rescue me, didn't he?"

"Not at all. Urag sent me for the books you stole."

"What? The boo—oh, my. I shouldn't have taken them. It was stupid, and it won't happen again."

"Urag wanted me to show you the error of your ways."

Orthorn's eyes widened, and he said, "No, no, you have to help me. Please!"

"Where are the books, Orthorn?"

"I don't have them anymore. The Caller took them."

"Why are you even in here?" Rowan asked him.

"They threw me in here until they were ready to use me in one of their experiments. This wasn't supposed to happen; I thought they wanted my help, not to use me as a test subject!"

Rowan looked up at Ben. "Do we let him out or just leave him here to rot?"

Ben gave her a grim smile. "It's tempting, you know. Let him starve to death after we kill everybody else in the keep."

"No, no! I can help you! Please!"

"Oh, all right, is there a key?"

"No, it's the levers in the center of the room. Just make sure you get the right one. And please hurry. I don't like being in here!"

Ben thought again of his predicament in Saarthal and his da's story of jail time. He'd had no intention of leaving Orthorn there, of course, but thinking about it now, he felt bad for taunting him. He went to the bank of levers and threw the one that most likely corresponded with the Altmer's cell. It opened, and Orthorn stepped out.

"Thank you! I promise to help, and then I'll go back to the college and beg them to let me back in."

"I seriously doubt they'll let you back in. You know how Urag is about his books. Now, where are they?"

"The Caller will have them in the ritual chamber."

"Ben, we can't just leave the wolves here," Rowan said softly.

"No, you're right, just like we could let our friend here starve in his cell." He drew his sword, as did Rowan, and he threw the lever. The cell door opened and the wolves lunged out, and Ben and Rowan killed them quickly.

Rowan turned to Orthorn. "You should get yourself to safety."

"Don't you need my help?"

Ben shook his head. "This will be easier without you getting in the way. Just go."

"Well, I was only trying to help," the Altmer huffed. "Fine. I'll save myself, then. Thank you for letting me out of that cage." He shouldered past them and went back through the fort.

On the next level down, they found an instructor walking two apprentices through a series of destruction spells. Their backs were to the doorway, and the first apprentice never even knew Rowan was in the room as she fired an arrow into the back of his head. They exchanged projectiles with the other apprentice and the instructor. Farther below that, they entered a hall with several sarcophagi, and two mages working at the far end. Skeletons burst out of the coffins, and the mages hurled frost and lightning spells at them. Ben took the skeletons, and Rowan killed one of the mages, only to see the other one raise his dead body to fight again.

"Necromancers!" she growled. "I hate necromancers!" She shot the second wizard, and the first dissipated into a pile of ash.

They passed through the living quarters and explored several bedrooms, looting dressers and chests and fighting a few mages and atronachs as they went. They finally came to a small amphitheater with two concentric eight-pointed stars in the middle. A pedestal in the center held a book, and a woman in blue robes stood behind it. Two recesses on the wall each held pedestals and books.

"So you're the ones who barged into my home and laid waste to my projects. How nice to meet you!"

"We're here for the books from the college," Ben said.

The sorceress sighed and jutted out a pouty lip. "So you're just one of Aren's lackeys? That's disappointing; you show real promise. But don't think I'm just going to give you these books. You come in here, kill my assistants, disrupt my work—you've annoyed me, so I don't think I'll be giving you anything."

"What were you doing to the vampires?"

"The vampires? Oh, this and that. Who cares? They're just vampires, worth nothing."

Rowan grunted, and Ben sneered at the mage. "I don't have time for this crap. Turn over the books, and maybe I'll let you live."

The Caller laughed out loud. "You think you can defeat me? How dare you!" She raised her hands and called lightning spells to them.

Ben dropped his sword and threw up a ward with one hand, shooting Chain Lightning her way with the other. Rowan moved off to the side and began shooting.

The Caller was tough, and she managed to cause both Rowan and Ben a lot of pain before they finally put her down. But in the end, it was two against one and they prevailed. As she fell to the floor, her hood fell away and revealed a fair-haired Altmer with an attractive face. She looked almost sad as her head lolled to the side. It hit Ben like a blow to the gut.

He sat down on the steps of the amphitheater, breathing heavily, his skin stinging where a lightning bolt had ripped at it, trying not to look at the dead mage. His sister came and sat down next to him.

"You okay?"

"Aye. You?"

"Sure. 'Turn over the books, and maybe I'll let you live'?" She chuckled. "I know you wanted her dead. What if she had turned the books over? Would you have let her live?"

"She wasn't going to give us the books. We'd done too much damage to her plans, whatever they were, for her to let us live. Do you need to be patched up?"

Rowan shook her head and said, "I enjoyed adventuring with you, little brother. I'm looking forward to when you come join the Companions for real. It's late. Do you want to rest for a while?"

"Not in here. We can camp outside if you want or just go back to Whiterun. But I don't want to stay here, Ro."

"We'll camp; it's a long walk back, so we want to be fresh. Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I had killed before and I would be fine. And I was, really. Came through this place without a second thought. But the look on her face . . . I mean, I know she would have killed us, so it was us or her. It's just hard to look at her."

Rowan rested her arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, I'll be okay. Let's just get the books and get out of here."

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	8. Dragonborn Legacy 7: Leg Work

Dragonborn: The Legacy Seven

Leg Work

5E 19, 15 Hearthfire

When Ben returned to the college, he found that the orb had been moved to the Hall of the Elements and was now floating above the energy well in the center of the main lecture room. Tolfdir stood at the well, gazing raptly up at the orb, with Blanche standing next to him. Ben's stoic aunt was wizard, vampire, and Dragonborn, and Ben loved her. She was the main reason he had taken an interest in magic as a boy.

"Aunt Blanche! It's good to see you." He rushed over to her and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"And you."

"You heard about the orb, I guess."

"Yes, the Arch-Mage sent for me immediately. It's quite the phenomenon."

"So did Ma tell you? About me being Dragonborn, I mean."

"She did. We already knew, of course."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I doubt you could learn Shouts as quickly as you do if you weren't Dragonborn."

"Then why didn't she tell me?" he demanded.

"It's a heavy burden to lay on young shoulders, Ben. Rather you aspire to it than carry it throughout your childhood."

"I suppose you're right, but I don't like being lied to. She's going to be mad that you told me."

"I wouldn't have told you without her permission. It was time, and she couldn't be here to tell you herself."

"I want to catch up with you, but I have some books to drop off with Urag."

"I'll be here," she said with the half-smile that was usually all she could muster.

Ben went upstairs to the Arcaneum and placed the books on Urag's counter.

"Well, well," the orc said. "I see you made it out alive."

"I had help. My sister went along."

"The Companion, right? I'm surprised. I've heard they're against magic use."

Ben shrugged. "They can be a bit paranoid when it comes to magic, but Rowan and I grew up around magic, so she's not afraid of it. Plus, she hates necromancers, apparently, and there were a lot of those to fight at Fellglow Keep."

Urag picked up one of the books. "Hmm. _Night of Tears._ I remember this one. Did you read it?"

"Aye, while I was camping on the way back. It said the Nords had found something buried beneath Saarthal and the elves attacked because they wanted it. I guess that answers Tolfdir's question about why it was sealed in there."

"You should discuss that with him. In the meantime, I'll read through these and see if I can come up with any more relevant information. Thank you for the leg work."

Ben went back to the Hall of the Elements, where Tolfdir still stood staring up at the orb, although Blanche was nowhere to be seen. Ben could understand its appeal. Aside from its otherworldly beauty, it resonated with magic, humming softly as it spun on an invisible axis and sending tingles throughout his body.

"Urag suggested I come see you," he told the old wizard. "I found a book that had some pertinent information. _Night of Tears._"

"Ah, yes, I remember that one. It said men and mer fought over something buried beneath Saarthal. I'll have to make a point of reading it again. For now, I can't seem to tear myself away from our wonderful discovery. Its beauty is like nothing I've ever seen. Walk with me while I make some observations." He started to amble around the orb. "I'm sure you've already noticed the markings. They're not in any known language. I'm not certain you're as attuned as I am, given my years of experience, but can you feel that?"

"The vibrations?"

"Yes, yes. It practically radiates magicka, yet it's unlike anything I've felt before."

Ancano came into the hall and strode over to Ben and Tolfdir. "I'm afraid I must intrude. It is urgent that I speak with your associate immediately."

"This is most inappropriate!" Tolfdir huffed. "We're involved in serious research here."

"I understand, but this is a matter that cannot wait."

"The audacity! Ben, we'll have to continue this at a later time." He started to walk out of the room but stopped, turned, and went to the other side of the orb instead.

"What do you want?" Ben asked the Altmer.

"I want you to tell me why a monk from the Psijic Order is at the college, asking for you."

"A what?" Ben responded, playing dumb. "I don't even know what that is."

"Don't think I don't know you were asking about them earlier. Now, we're going to go have a little chat with him and find out what he wants."

"And what business is it of yours, exactly?"

Ancano paused for a moment as if searching for a response. "If it concerns the college, it concerns me," he said finally. "Now, you are going to speak to this . . . monk . . . and find out why he is here, and then he will be removed from the college grounds."

"Okay, whatever."

He followed Ancano to the Arch-Mage's quarters, where an elven mage in golden robes waited with Savos Aren and Blanche. When Ben entered, the room filled with a pale, blue aura. It was different from the light that had appeared in Saarthal when the Psijic monk had visited him, but the effect was the same: everyone except for Ben and the monk froze in place.

"Please do not be alarmed," the monk said. "I mean you and your colleagues no harm. I merely wish to speak to you, and attempts to contact you as we did previously have failed. I cast a spell so that we could speak privately. I am Quaranir. I must be brief; I cannot keep this up for long. I believe our inability to contact you is due to the source of our concern."

"You mean the orb?"

"The Psijic Order does not normally intervene in matters outside the Isle of Arteum, and some will see my presence here as an affront. I'm all too aware that my arrival has aroused suspicion with the Thalmor."

A chill ran down Ben's spine. "The Thalmor?"

"My order cannot act directly in these events. You must take it upon yourself to do so."

"You know I'm just an apprentice, right?"

"Perhaps, but you set this chain of events in motion at Saarthal."

"But I was just doing as I was told."

"It matters not. Even as an apprentice, you are skillful, and you are best suited to deal with the situation. As you may have learned, this orb is immensely powerful. The world is not ready for it. If it remains here, it will be misused."

"What do you expect me to do, then? I don't think the Arch-Mage will listen to me if I just ask him to get rid of it."

"Then your efforts should be directed toward dealing with the aftermath. Unfortunately, we cannot predict what that will be. The power of the orb has obscured our vision of the future. I would recommend that you seek out the Augur of Dunlain here in the college. His perception may be more coherent than ours."

"The Augur of Dunlain? I've never heard of him."

"He was once a student here, but now he is . . . something different. Speak to your colleagues; they should be able to help you find him. I'm sorry I cannot provide more help, but this conversation requires a great deal of effort on my part. I'm afraid I must leave you."

"Wait. You mentioned the Thalmor. They're not even allowed in Skyrim anymore."

"How many times have you gone somewhere you were not allowed?"

"Good point," Ben muttered.

"The Thalmor see our order as a threat because we have power and will not permit them to control us. As is always the case in matters of power, the Thalmor will covet the orb. You must prevent them from getting it."

"But how am I supposed to do that?"

"I cannot say. Know that we will continue to watch over you and guide you as best we can. It is within you to succeed; never forget that."

The light returned to normal, and Ancano, Blanche, and the Arch-Mage started moving again.

"I'm sorry," said Savos, "were you about to say something?"

"Well?" Ancano demanded. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? What do you want with this apprentice?"

"I am afraid I don't understand," Quaranir replied innocently.

"Don't play coy with me. You asked to see a specific member of the college. Well, here he is. What do you want with him?"

"There has clearly been a misunderstanding. I should not be here. I shall take my leave."

"What? You're not going anywhere until I find out what you're up to."

"I thought you _wanted_ him to leave," Ben taunted.

"I assure you I am not 'up to' anything. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused." Quaranir left without another word.

Ancano pointed a threatening finger at Ben. "This is not over."

Ben fought the urge to reach out and bite the Altmer's finger.

Ancano stormed off, and the Arch-Mage peered helplessly at Ben. "I don't know what just happened," he said. "A Psijic monk here after all these years, and then he just leaves. I do hope Ancano didn't offend him."

"Any idea what he wanted?"

"All I know is that he asked to see you."

"Arch-Mage, have you ever heard of the Augur of Dunlain?"

Blanche raised an eyebrow with interest but remained silent.

Savos rolled his eyes. "Has Tolfdir been telling stories again? This subject is inappropriate for conversation, and I've told him this many times."

"So you _have_ heard of him?"

"Please. Do not allow him to discuss it." He waved a hand, dismissing Ben.

Blanche followed Ben out of the Arch-Mage's quarters and stopped him on the stairs. "What just happened?" she asked.

"That monk stopped time or something so he could talk to me in private. He told me the Thalmor were trying to get their hands on the orb and I had to stop them. He said I should speak with the Augur of Dunlain. Do you know anything about him?"

"Only stories. He was once a student here, and he was involved in some sort of accident, but I'm afraid I don't know much more. The Arch-Mage has always been very tight-lipped about it. The monk mentioned the Thalmor?"

"Aye, he implied that they were already in Skyrim."

With that, Blanche came very close to having a facial expression. "The High King will want to know about this."

"You gonna pay him a visit?" Ben asked with a smirk. Blanche and Ulfric despised each other. Some years back, he had indirectly caused harm to her family, and she had clawed a new scar into his already rugged face.

"Not if I can help it. But I will send word."

* * *

Later that evening, as he and Faralda lay tangled together in her bed, Ben asked her about the Augur.

"It's not my place to say anything," she said.

"Why is this guy such a big secret?"

"Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a secret."

"Ugh, you're killing me!"

"I'm sorry, Ben. It's just not something I can discuss. Try going to Mirabelle Ervine."

But Ben knew better. The haughty Master Wizard wouldn't tell him anything; she wasn't exactly fond of him. It wasn't his fault. If somebody had told him she was Master Wizard, he wouldn't have tried to get her into bed the first day he was at the college. No, if he really wanted information about the Augur, he'd need to talk to Tolfdir.

* * *

"Well, now," the mage said when Ben asked him the next morning, "I haven't heard that name in quite a while. He was a brilliant student and an accomplished wizard. This was before my time, by the way. A curious and astute pupil, but he focused too much on just how much power he could acquire. It caused a terrible accident, I'm afraid. Then again, I suppose 'terrible' is subjective. He is incredibly powerful, after all."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"I would guess he's still down in the Midden. If you go to see him, tell him I said hello."

"The Midden? Where is that?"

"It's underneath the college. It's not the nicest place in the world, so do be careful. There are trap doors in the Hall of Countenance and just outside the Hall of Attainment."

"Thanks, Tolfdir."

"Don't mention it. When you return, perhaps we can continue our discussion about the orb."

"I look forward to it. And maybe the Augur can provide some insight too."

Tolfdir smiled brightly. "That would be lovely!"

Ben found the trap door in the courtyard outside the Hall of Attainment and descended into the Midden. He navigated several long, dark sewage tunnels; after growing up in the Cistern, he felt right at home. He had to admit, however, that the occasional skeleton or bloody ritual remains he found were quite disturbing. He shuddered when he encountered two full humanoid skeletons hanging high on a wall, one of which had its head replaced with a deer skull.

Far down into the sewer, as he approached a door in a snow-covered cavern, a voice rang through the air.

"Your perseverance will only lead to disappointment."

_Maybe,_ Ben thought. _Maybe not._ He tried the door.

"Still you persist? Very well, you may enter."

The door opened onto a small, round room with a magicka well in the center. Instead of the subtle blue light these magical focal points usually emitted, a blinding azure glow floated above the well. But it was more than just light; Ben got the distinct impression that it was sentient.

"Uh, are you the Augur of Dunlain?"

"I am that which you seek," said a deep, booming voice. "Your efforts are in vain; it has already begun."

"There's no way to stop it?"

"Have those who sent you told you what they seek? What _you_ seek?"

"I'm thinking no?"

"You seek that which all who wield magic seek: knowledge. Knowledge about the Eye of Magnus. But knowledge will corrupt, destroy, consume."

"I heard what happened to you. But you can't just assume that everybody is like that."

"The Thalmor sought the same thing, and it shall lead to his end, as it has so many others."

"Thalmor? What Thalmor?"

"The one who calls himself Ancano."

Ben's jaw dropped. "Ancano? A Thalmor? _Here?"_

"He seeks information about the Eye of Magnus, but what he finds will be quite different. His path will cross yours in time, but first you must find that which you need."

"I need to tell someone he's here."

"You must know more about the Eye so that you can avert a disaster, but events are spiraling out of control and this disaster cannot be avoided. To see through Magnus's Eye without being blinded, you require his staff, and you must act with haste. Take this knowledge to your Arch-Mage." With that, the bright light went out and left only the pale glow of the focal point.

* * *

Ben went to seek out the Arch-Mage and found him in the Hall of the Elements with the Eye. "Ancano is Thalmor," he said without preamble.

Savos Aren pursed his lips. "Ben, while I realize Ancano can be demanding and abrasive, I assure you he is no Thalmor, and it is beneath you to make such baseless accusations."

"The Augur of Dunlain told me."

"Did he, now? And what made him believe such a thing?"

Ben shrugged. "You know more about what he is than I do. He also called the orb the Eye of Magnus and said we needed to find the Staff of Magnus."

"He specifically mentioned the Staff of Magnus?"

"Aye."

"I see. Well, someone should follow up on this."

"Where do I start?"

"I'm impressed with your initiative. I seem to recall Mirabelle mentioning the staff recently. Why don't you check with her?"

Mirabelle. Great. "What about Ancano?"

"I will see what I can find out," the Arch-Mage relented. "But don't worry yourself over it. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."

Ben found Mirabelle in an office just outside the Arch-Mage quarters. She was sitting at a desk, composing a letter, chewing absently on her lower lip. He folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb, watching her write.

She realized he was there and glared up at him. "Do you need something?" she grumbled.

"You know, the way you nibble on your lip when you're concentrating is so cute."

Mirabelle rolled her eyes. "Do we have to go through this every time you're in my presence?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Because I am Master Wizard of the college where you are a _student_, and you're half my age."

"But otherwise, there wouldn't be a problem?"

"What do you want, little boy?" she snapped.

Ben sighed with resignation and gave up, although he was wearing her down. He just knew it. "I'm looking for information on the Staff of Magnus."

The attractive Breton's eyes widened. "Now, why in the world would you be asking about that?"

"It may be connected to the Eye of Magnus."

"The 'Eye of Magnus,' is it? Look, while that thing—that orb—is quite impressive, let's not jump to wild conclusions or assign importance beyond what we're certain of. Where did you get such an idea?"

"From the Augur of Dunlain."

Mirabelle put her quill down and stood up. She was a full head and shoulders shorter than he was, but she was still intimidating as she glared up at him. "What have you gotten yourself involved in?"

He took a step back. "It's funny; I keep asking myself that same thing."

"Ben, whatever is going on, you must be very careful. This is not just some class project. The staff is said to be extremely powerful. It has the capacity to store an incredible amount of magical energy. Many believe it's only a myth. I might believe it as well if not for those Synod characters who showed up last month."

"Synod? What's that?"

"Mages based out of Cyrodiil."

"Are you sure it wasn't the Thalmor?"

"The Tha—well, no, I don't believe—why do you ask?"

"I was told not to make baseless accusations."

Mirabelle stared at him for a moment, then nodded knowingly. "I see. No, the Synod are separate from the Thalmor. They fancy themselves the Imperial authority on magic, but it's my understanding that all they really do is make noise in an attempt to curry favor with the Emperor. Lots of politics, little magic. I was actually quite surprised to find them on our doorstep."

"They were asking about the staff?"

"Yes, they seemed to think it was here. It is clear they're trying to hoard powerful artifacts."

"So no one knows where it is?"

"No one here does, although the Synod seemed convinced it was somewhere in Skyrim. They mentioned the ruins of Mzulft in passing. It could be they were headed there."

Ben smiled. "A dwarven ruin, huh?"

"I suppose you're intent on looking for the staff, yes?"

"I've been told by several people that I was the one who had to do this."

The Master Wizard shook her head with bewilderment. "I knew you were going to be trouble the day Blanche brought you across our threshold."

"Speaking of Blanche, have you seen her?"

"I believe she's in her room in the Hall of Attainment."

Ben left the office and headed toward the Hall of Attainment muttering to himself that he seemed to be getting a lot of exercise trekking back and forth between mages. Maybe he should just get them in one room and get all of his answers at once.

He knocked on the door jamb to Blanche's room, where she sat with a book. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course. Come in."

Ben sat on her bed and leaned close. "The Augur of Dunlain told me Ancano is Thalmor," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "You're determined to get me in the same room with Ulfric, aren't you?"

"You could still send a messenger. It might not even be true. Say, do you know anything about Mzulft?"

"It's a dwarven ruin in Eastmarch. Nothing special that I know of. Why do you ask?"

"The Augur said I needed to find the Staff of Magnus, and Mirabelle said some members of the Synod were asking about it recently. They were heading to Mzulft. I figure it might be worth looking there."

"So you're off to Mzulft all by yourself?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Have you forgotten everything we've taught you? You mustn't go into a ruin like that alone. I'll go with you."

Ben brightened. "You will? That's great!"

"For now, go get some rest. We'll leave first thing tomorrow. I have letters to compose. I still have to inform His Royal Majesty about the Thalmor, and I'll want to send a letter to your mother as well."

"I'll see you in the morning, then." He got up and started to walk out the door.

"Ben," said Blanche.

"Aye?"

She motioned for him to come closer, and when he did, she whispered, "Don't tell anyone else about Ancano being Thalmor. It has to be confirmed before we can do anything, and there's no sense in causing a panic."

"I understand. Night, Blanche."

"Good night."

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC


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